Woman-child,
Pretty, delicate,
Fragile porcelain doll,
Trying to make sense,
Of things ,which make,
no sense at all.
Her pretty, painted, frozen smile,
Barely masks the pain
She tries so hard to hide.
Her big, unblinking eyes,
Brim bright with countless tears,
She's never, ever cried.
She's entombed within the prison
Of her pretty, delicate,
Fragile porcelain shell,
With an eternally frozen smile,
Locking in the sorrows,
She can never share, or ever tell.

Nice, as always

classroom


triple trees converged
uniting in the south slope
density of poplars
oaks
occasional beeches
where I wandered
wondered
in that other life
how I might involve

my trinity discovery
and that grey timber
wolf
I saw so clearly at the edge
of woods
and then that perfect scoured skull
skeleton sleeping
where I’d been drinking
fresh spring airs

of course there’s the skunk
I almost kicked
the chorus of coyote kits
black racers swimming
almost as fast
on that pond
my pond then
as slithers through the barn

it’s where I learned
trees could talk
ands every crow and waxwing
was a teacher
that shooting stars would sometimes answer
prayers and questions
terrible to speak
if I would watch
the northern sky
alone at night