The leaves are clapping…


The leaves are clapping as hands do

To applaud the wind

The sun

The coming rain

Clapping like the sound of laughter

Rising up out of grief

Leaves clapping like hearts beating

Full with color

And with the pumping of life

The leaves are reaching out

The way a hand reaches out to break a fall.

The leaves are falling

the way dreams fall from broken hearts

I would gladly trade the tears streaming down my face

For freckles frolicking on my skin

The way the changing leaves freckle the sky

Creating points of light

Like shooting stars.

What should I wish for?

In the past, I saw my wish

And I sent it back up into the sky

Hoping it would one day float back down to me.

But now, I will let these decaying leaves

fall into the core of me

making fertile ground

to grow my seed of desire

so that it will emerge like a tree,

rooted to its purpose.
EDM



Cypress


Not intimidated by the bulk of bare chests

Not affected by the sun’s glare against dark eyes

(not unlike my own)

Shivers do not run down my spine from fevers

spent watching sweat shimmer off backs

beaten beasts of burden

Odors of a long day’s work

hang like a heavy rain in a hot southern blaze.

The sun threatens to set in pants

all too tight to walk in.

Dare I blink at the mocking smile

revealed through thick puckered lips

salted, once supple

teeth set all with gold and stark white?

Beyond their skin, which is like the sun’s brazen shadows

They too are men.

Fullbodied, broken, just breaking and bold.

Hands as rough and as dark

as the bark of the fearless oak

encircle its trunk

guiding the slaughter.

Amen in the sight of destruction.



Bleached white shirts reflect stained red faces

behind the window of an old pickup truck.

The driver counts the races

his rack in place, mind afright;

Will they be gone before night?

The ground is barren exposing them all.

Ropes tied loosely,

they tighten at one man’s call.

The cutting is done,

One tree left to fall.

Their labor is unsteady now.

Once, they stood with conviction,

Seven stoic men to see the glory of the job’s completion.

They now stand

Uncertain

Where the white man’s tree

Will land.
EDM