sun down
in the darkness of firs
in the quiet of their wracked deadfall limbs
the mangled power, holding
the now dim dual blossoms of twinflower
a few early and tart thimbleberries wiped into mouth
birds settle their chatter into night nests
and the air, wakening
exactly
smells the taste of
cold pure spring water
trickling clarity
into all, fresh
*Copyright 2010 by Luther Allen. This poem appears in The View from Lummi Island.
—-
photo © J.C. Hasstedt
Advertisements
