soldiering on and
other maladies

in the garden there is a tree that leans
oh so far to the right
(from where i sit)
and i smile at the audacity
of this refusal to break
this will to survive
this pugnacious affront
to convention

i write poems about age
(or simply think them)
understanding that crooked
is a different kind of tenacity
and the temerity of youth
is just blossom

mostly i remember
the silence
of a morning
meant for forgiveness
and the stars on that night
we walked to saturn

the birds eat berries
left long on winter branches
gone sweet with the yearning
to be free




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other maladies”

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