Lying in a bed,

A bed of leaves

Crisply golden,

Biting into a crunchy

White fleshed apple,

An apple of acidic varietal origins unknown

Green skinned, mottled, slighty dry



Listening to the auburn rustle

Left behind

On branches,


Pointing heavenward,


Left by that wind witch who came through

Cackling at the trees

At the trees struck hard falling;

I heard them break down on rocks

Last night


They fell

Not from the woodsman’s axe

Nor hatchet

Cleft in bark

Yet down

Down they went

And she

She howled

Howled at the windowpanes

Looking in

To see

If there was a crack

To sneak in


This morning

A pair of bucks locked horns

Below the apple tree

While a doe watched

Tick tock

Time elapsed


She ran

Into the woods

With a backward glance

One quick peek from under long lashes framing her slanted windows

Then she was gone

Spurring the bucks onward

Until one claimed higher ground

Reared up on hind legs

Not a drop of blood marked the ground

Though the tumultuous battle raged

On then Crack!

Antlers break

Marking territory claimed

In a sinuous dance

Of courtship

Under auburn leaves blazing

Blazing against the blue sky

Where turtles

And even a few swans float

Slowly drifting then

A gentle breeze

And a shower of titian,

Russets mottled with green birthmarks

Tissue thin and veined,

Drops lightly

Veiling us where we lie

Our nostrils flare and we sneeze

Tickled by their edges.

A kingfisher flies overhead

Chrr chrrr chrr

Blue wings caught by the eye as he streaks

Then breaks land on the naked branch

Left behind by leaves that waited

For this instant

In which to fall

Opening a door that said


In bold letters

Carved from no

Unaccountable block of wood

Haunted with the essence of

A life once lived

Before being turned

By hands into some thing

This thing new and use full

The kingfisher flies away

Wings wide open it dips in lightly

Fish in beak

It goes

To warmer climes

Where spiny acanthus grows beside a dollhouse,

Tidy and sweet,

Proud spikes raised heavenward

It leans against an old door

Hinges rusty

A door set into a wall of stone

It once lived leafy green and waxy

Then glowed golden delicious

On a crisp auburn afternoon

Its bark marking it

At birth

White oak

White oak.

An exploration via the Wordle found here, for more poems and mind love . .

4 thoughts on “entrance

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