Written in the Air

Secret Trees (I)

Secret Trees (II)

LAST DAYS OF WINTER

The storks in the ice on the window panes
have blown to the riverbanks where a Dalmatian
bounds, towing daylight with its dropped leash.

All the poems of black coats and wool scarves
on an evening bus are transpiring from
their sweetening musk into the prose of bare hands.

At last, the secret trees of April are blooming in the air.
With each breath, I celebrate the words surging in their roots.
With every footstep, I inherit their liberal emblems.

Words and images © Chris Bronsk

12 thoughts on “Written in the Air

  1. Thanks, Richard. I’m glad you like it and appreciate your feedback. But don’t anthropomorphize too much. We like you just as you are. :0) Best wishes.

  2. I like the idea of secret trees bestowing secret words upon you as they slowly emerge from the cold depths of winter. Quietly majestic, I would say, of the poem, and images.

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