A place to gather words before they get lost.
Wood Anatomy
On the glass, the anatomist works a focused kind of magic and wonder
pressing threads of cells and fiber, culled from deep within, under
the skin of bark — the dark, glows with light and filament
A frozen window to the past, a glimpse inside the infinite
Inspired by https://sweetgum.nybg.org/science/vh/media-search/multimedia-list/?ResSubType=Photomicrograph&DetSubject_tab=wood%20anatomy for #writeacrossamera
A few of these words always seem to slide inside the haystack; needles
Tubes connect these trees - networks of the overground; In Spring, maple flows
All these poems, falling with the rustle of the wind; Listen to them sing
for Algot
like the way the dark sky sings to us, like hailstones fallen on weathered dust, clinging to skin, the rust of winter in this reddened Earth, dry dirt and petrichor, the scent of words brittle against the surface of this coin, spun in motion, forever, forever, for, ever
for Terry
This morning, the grass crinkles with white frost of night; an abandoned dress
Bundled up beneath the stars, we're blanketed, still, secluded; night chill
Hunting forest soils off the path, after the rains, where small mushrooms spawn
At what point do we remember the forgetting?
The letting of memories, sliding through doors?
I am that child, again, worried at what I left behind
for DS106
Summer's passing by, as flocks of geese far above loudly shout: good-bye