tomcairnspoetry

Glade II

April 2022

This moss-wrapped, blackened trunk has stood for years

Its silent vigil in this hollow glade.

Unnoticed in the dark it must have seen

Our young drunk-chuckling love that final night

And when our kiss-strewn striving slowed to sleep

It will have watched our fire gently fade.

 

This thought, I rest my palm upon the stump

And slow my mind and breath to woodland pace

And push the spirit of my hand out wide

Through roots that splay my fingers like a glove

To feel the earth in all its moist surprise

And catch that fading warmth before it dies.