Pin It

The Black Oak 

You are my black oak,
Quircus kelloggii,
mossy and dark and old.

I remember when we
pressed our hands
against the soft dark earth
at the base of a tree,
the warm depression
where a fisher had slept.
We were thirty yards away
when he woke and fled,
a soft, swift crashing sound
so quickly gone.

Pin It


Subscribe to this thread:

Add a comment

About The Author

Amy Fontaine

more from the author

Latest in Poetry


Facebook | Twitter

© 2023 North Coast Journal

Website powered by Foundation