A Requiem
the maples cast their spill
the blood of April
my staunch hands
slap me into waking
my ear upon the morning
for surety of heart
shallow breath is sparrow
the longer drawn is crow
my talismans,
my bearers
they know the weight of branches
and pulses in the soil
the ancients gave them fingers
but they lost them
This poem appears in
Pass it Along
© Brendan Bonsack
April 2017