These Are The Trees Going On Without Us
There is a migration, and rocks
are crushed, the crust
moved, plowed through by woods,
the gentle stealth of fibers.
…there, amidst trunks and bluffs
that move slow, the drift of mass
of mountains, even;
treed mountains:
a march of the mulch and maddened.
HOMESCHOOLING MOTHER OF 5, ALL THINGS DOMESTIC, MY CRAZY LIFE
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The Year of Living Deeply
Corey Mesler
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(The poetry blog of Grant Clauser)
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a roominghouse for the servants of the duende
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