The Oak And Two Thieves Poem by Leslie Philibert

Washed with old rain
that maps the parentless wind
under a sky scant with grey birds.

Heavy with wood; illuminated with dew
and one with the open heaven; thorn-ringed
as shadows creep as mice.

Let the star of lost faith
escape between your eyes;
the trail down a face; uncertain curves

as a leaf falls with shaked flight,
weightless with a green heart,
sorry end of a widow`s finger.

The forest and the tress
crash into a hole of falling water
that may be lost, loud-breathed

with the wings of broken day;
two beside you; white as cold ash
with the face of sorrow, waiting.

And when they rise like
blackened moons, they shall hold
your arms high, pulling back, pulling.