Choices
I go to the mountain side
of the house to cut saplings,
and clear a view to snow
on the mountain.
But when I look up, saw in
hand, I see a nest clutched in the uppermost
branches.
I don't cut that one.
I don't cut the others
either.
Suddenly, in every tree,
an unseen nest where a mountain would be.
Tess
Gallagher
Dear
Ghosts |