Joseph O'Keefe​

Timber and Tree

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Among the fallen timbers

         jagged on the autumn floor

 

My regrets numberless and torn

          too far gone to repair

 

I cannot lever such deaths for ascension

My shames mute and still

          decompose in largo

          

Making peace in this forest, dreaming to treetops

is not making peace with its browning

          scattered accusing remains

 

I turn now in every direction to listen for a reconciling whisper

see a crow on the wing annointed

          by iridescence climbing into a fetching blue

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