Volume II, Issue I Spring 2003


Bearded Tree

We come to it
After a walk
Through the field
Late afternoon
Shadows closing in
Sunlight already golden.
Old tree,
Its beard scraggly
Flowing with time
The memory of souls
Drifting over the land
Having left lives and bodies
Graced with hair, all colors,
Caressed, remembered, loved
But unwilling to leave
Entirely for the other place
So strands grab the old limbs
To hold on, to stay behind
In the blood red sun
Shadows crisscrossing
Fields, days, other shadows,
Even our thoughts as we pass
Beneath the tree and on
And on.


Christopher Woods’recent books are Uunder A Riverbed Sky, prose poems and brief fictions from Panther Creek Press, and Heart Speak, stage monologues from Stone River Press.

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