The Apple Tree Cut Poem by Leslie Philibert
The Apple Tree Cut
That drinks the black earth,
tripped in its own shadow;
the sun eaten by fallen leaves
of Autumn`s fading; fingers
fragile and broken; twigs
the polished leg of a dead gull
white centered with milk;
wonder the mess of branches,
flags of prayer torn.
The tree shouts; each cut
an hour less; seconds rubbed out;
the lost next waits in the wings.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
I write for myself.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/25/2024 6:48:11 AM # 1.0.0.1119
