Cotton Wood December

A sealed stillness
Only the stream moves
In slow paces.
Tremor of blue
Furl of water
Under dead leaves.

In silence
The wood declares
Itself, rattling
In the angles and darkness
Branches and brambles
Tussock of grasses,

Under my heel
Crackle and complain
Ice shivers in blue
As the sky
Between runes of trees.

Far up
In straight lines,
Calming and orderly
Against
An ornate sky
Geese flail home.

26 Dec 04

~ Dave ~