See Beyond The Missing Leaves Poem by Joe Bisicchia

There is a dead dear rotting hollow out back
beyond the bleached white bones of a birch.

He was a friend of ours.
Chameleons on this same path, this Highway 61.

At the loss of the petals we may wonder
of the magnolia and of ourselves,

and of the chrome horses
of which we've heard Dylan speak,

and of the new neighbors, the strangers,
who just moved in years ago,

and if by grace we shall ever see
beyond the missing leaves our souls underneath.

And this morning the birds speak without words
about the arrival of spring.

But,
are we listening?



Published by Willawaw Journal,2018