by J.S. MacLean
This final forest thins out ahead.
I can see through the trees now
as the stand diffuses
stretching their shadows
leaving only space – a barren
without blueberries perhaps.
Moss is a dry sponge.
Birdsongs have vacant notes.
I wish for a creek to dawdle by
as seconds slip like a panther cat
and illusive thoughts and words
deform like late morning frost.
Back along the trail I’ve come
leaves stir from time to time
giving ground by the years –
rustling a huddle of rumors
of those that passed this way
behind the back of the wind.
J.S. MacLean has been writing poetry since the early 70s with two collections Molasses Smothered Lemon Slices and Infinite Oarsmen for One available on Amazon. He has over 175 poems in publications internationally in Canada, USA, Ireland, UK, France, Israel, India, Thailand, and Australia. He enjoys the outdoors, and indoors too. In 2007 he won THIS Magazine’s Great Canadian Literary Hunt in Poetry (1st Prize). He strives for the lyrical and hopes for the accidental.
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