by Ethel Mortenson Davis
This morning,
when we saw a cedar forest
whose trees seemed
as if they were from another world,
we saw a child’s tale—
witches and goblins hiding
behind every tree trunk
on the soft fallen cedar floors.
Since we have moved
to this land of lakes and forests,
my body has moved,
but not my spirit.
It is still circling,
soaring in the sky,
keeping from lighting,
not sure whether
it will land
like
the Sandhill Crane
this morning
circling the marsh,
not lighting,
appearing to be lost.
fourwindowspress 