wigwams of moonshadow
cast by trees
across drifts that host
sparkling Orions.
only i alien,
gigantism
of pulse and huff,
the spruce like a weir
catching my blunders
with quiet.
cairns left by squirrels
guide the way,
middens like glyphs
on half-sunk knotholes.
where the thread leads
witching hoots might say,
lust-tuned staccatos
sounding the labyrinth.
and yet the forest
is too deep to explain.
even owls will never know.
Chris Crittenden, Maine, USA
4 poetry lovers:
Chris Crittenden lives near a lighthouse in a remote coastal area. There are no traffic or street lights nearby. He believes poetry explifies the depth and honesty to which humans can attain. Some recent acceptances are from Poems Niederngasse, Poetic Diversity, DMQ Review and Thick With Conviction. He thanks you for reading his poems!
Incredible selection of images and descriptive perfection. Thanks for submitting this.
Drawn in by a great opening image line. And the squirrel's cairn!
Reverent and mystical - the image of moonshadowed trees in the winter silence of a forest.
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