Wood from the Trees

Why did you come here?
It is late now and the yellow leaves
Curl into the dark,

And the white bark of the avenue
Receives you; then a house
Where you cannot remember lights,

But panes gone blue for dust,
And still you trust in how an emptiness
Invites you to stay

Where small claws take a skitter on the stair,
To guess you can make out
The nasty sound of ticking in the wood

And fear the life in lumber,
That timber, which has fallen to the beasts,
Which was granted with the will.



Ginny Lee

Striking out one morning,
...