Diane Jackman

Alde Valley Oak
against all weathers
the oak stands firm
unfurling yellow
leaves in Spring
letting hot dog days
darken pigment
until frost nips sap
and brown feathers drop

 

while

ivy scrambles its

inexorable path

around the trunk

waits for

winter storm and

the final

falling


Burial Mound
Shepherd’s warning lifts
above the horizon,
spreading rose shadows
over the deserted mound.
In their long home.
beneath frosted grass
the dead shift
hollow bones.
Sand trickles between
fleshless ribs.
No resurrection here.
Only a rabbit burrowing.

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