The Posture of Trees
unexpectedly, a year has spilled its worn days along the path breaching a stand where years lay— where colors shuffle autumn tags beneath and above like the posture of trees I stand as straight as I can feeling taller going on
Previously published by Wellington Street Review / June 2019
over waste and blessings I summon one—one step—one foot then the next, maybe one long stride into an evening gray boat to where hope will tack a reflection, stir a swell crossing a sudden breach through this journey I reach for a welcoming harbor that still lies too long away
Even My Personal Ghost
crouches eyeless, harmless, perhaps pretending ordinary, with no will of her own. So much remains to be done. If lost, remember the rituals pass into possibilities through my silhouette and beyond. Catch up! Catch up when light falls and my senses cross into night… please, promise to follow.
©2021 Judy DeCroce
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