[lit-ideas] SUNDAY POEM

  • From: "Mike Geary" <atlas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: "LIT-IDEAS" <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • Date: Sun, 13 Jun 2004 22:13:24 -0500


In spring when I put my ear to a tree
and told you I could hear
the surging sap,
you laughed,
and I laughed,
we laughed together all that acorn-making summer.

In October when I touched you,
you looked away,
and I heard the leaves die,
But it was you who was crying.


A sudden summer rain
we ducked into a small cafe
and drank beer and watched
the rain spark silver on the black street
there was no need to speak
we knew


In the city, trees seem confused
they drop their leaves like yellow pamphlets
to blow along the streets.
I feel for them and tell them
of forest floors years deep.

Mike Geary

PS.   I hope D. Ritchie will continue his contributions and not leave me
standing naked in the town square.

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