Fire breaks inside the forest, twigs crackle, insects singe and fall in balls of supplication.
Wisps of smoke rise from scorched branches, emptiness gives shape to space as silence to love.
I sink down, rake the soil, tug wasteful thoughts that run like weed; I ease knots of runners that hold my heart in pain.
With the leaves down, I can see deep into the woods, welcome the blue sky to write a poem on the cleared earth.
November Poem A Day: Poem written in response to the line “with the leaves down, I can see deep into the woods” from Dave Bonta’s Morning Porch entry.