The Old Apple Tree

  In the school yard, the packed, worn, colourless dirt.  Dust rising from our freedom, ribbons of long grass tangling our ankles, crawling in under the old apple tree. Roots our universe, the branches bent-heavy. Circumference of fallen fruit, alive with the humming of bees. How, for that singular moment, there is nothing else. That…

Uneven

The shadow of the tree turns upon the stone, Measuring my day for me. It’s all about time when you are here for An elusive resurrection. The day wanes, The wind lifting unnoticed feathers Tousling hair, and Sending the campfire into my eyes. In the forest, A trembling of delicate tendrils. The branches rise and…