The stiff-petaled cone
squats,
poised in a birdcage of dried needles.
Barbs, the size of small fish hooks,
fail
to capture the plump oval of seed
slipping from the womb of the tree.
more from the author
-
The sheep have moved to higher ground
- May 4, 2017
-
This marriage
- Jun 2, 2016
-
The thing about landslides
- Dec 31, 2015
- More »
Latest in Poetry
Covid-19
All | UPDATE YOUR BUSINESS INFO
Readers also liked…
-
On the roof next-door
- Jul 2, 2020
