A small sun shines today, feeble, hard, gray.
Drops of water fall past the window,
no sequence, no pattern, small words melted
from the black face of a roof. I look
beyond to the two blue spruce melded into one.
Trace the way the branches split, then split again.
Remember a black crow standing high up above
limbs still with pockets of snow. Across the stream,
pale, grappling poplars lay claim to space,
struggle toward a small smudge of sky,
stretching toward life the way a man might --
filling a trim tan house with wide sofa, black-edged
mirror, chairs pushed in around a table, a row
of empty shoes lined up behind the closet door.

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...