Monday, November 22, 2010

The Hills Above New Haven

A smoky veiled moon
plays mousehide and catseek
through the naked tangled trees
as I lurch upward
along the moraine
through the edges of November
when the jaws are opened wide.
All creation comes from silence
and the wonder at abundance
like sparks across the sky.

3 comments:

Paul Andrew Russell said...

Lovely piece of writing.

I especially liked this line:

'through the naked tangled trees...'

Nice. :-)

Hannah Stephenson said...

The perfect almost winter poem.

Old Ollie said...

A true poetic moment - nicely captured.