As trees
John Clare Stokes
You get to the age
When you think
By now I should
See clearly
But the vision is
Still cloudy
Men as trees walking
Not discerning
An arm from a branch
A leg from a root
And the voice you hear
Is it of man or is it
Of fowl
I take to the limbs
Carefully
Saw in hand
I begin cutting
Not knowing from
Whence comes
The screaming.
Is it sap
Or is it blood?
No comments:
Post a Comment