This entry is part 83 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses


After all-night rain,
the forest floor is soft
and full of give.

A birch log collapses
when I step on it, but the bark
arches back after I pass.

New ferns uncoil,
heads slowly dissolving
into spine and ribs.

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3 Replies to “Springy”

  1. To Call the Goddess

    The old man lost faith in rain,
    stopped praying, whispered soft,
    I’ve had enough. I give.

    How many poems can you give,
    brother, to call the goddess of the rain?
    A shadow in a sheep’s clothes, soft

    wings flutter, a sound so soft
    you stop the car, pull over and give
    a listen to the whistle of a train.

    To hear the rain fall soft again? I’ll give.

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