West Forest
01/18/2002 06:26 a.m.
Not the factory lights
Nor the highway,
Nor the exotics
Dug in formally
Along the curb;

These could not speak,
But the voice was there,
Clear and poignant
And we huddled
Once more in the thicket.

Was it winter, wilderness,
Or wildlife that we sought?
The day was harsh,
The wind bit cold,
And we found shelter.

Thick enough to lie upon
Above the ground,
A twiggy tangle;
Protected, concealed,
We were gratified.

I smell even now
Old leaves, willow,
And wet sticks--
Snowflakes melting
On warmed thin skin;

And impluslively squinting
From the yellow glare,
Street lights, and
Traffic--"thirty years
On down the road."
I am currently Romantic
I am listening to Green Memory's Song