by Sarah Goldstein:
Oak Trees Are Standing
through the night and in the morning -
the five oaks that line the gray house burning
by the quiet river.
Fire lights the casement windows,
an urge of wind against the panes,
a ringing of glass on the terrace -
Everything we did in that old house
(words moving through air,
hands pushing shadows)
rises skyward with the light ash and cinder
like a flock of birds unloosed.
Still, the trees persist -
the highest boughs are slowly nodding -
even as the beam fold, and the blue slate falls,
and the gulls bank, loss upon loss,
on the great hill.
Last modified: Sun Aug 9 06:16:10