I stumbled on a tree root.
All my words fell out of my mouth.
All of them. The seldom used ones too.
moon and trademark
stuck to my left arm.
They sunk below my skin
to become tattoos
in search of colors other than black.
Working late into the evening,
I picked up most of my vocabulary,
fearing a frost would wither my words.
Squirrels scurried over to the spill
and took words away
to bury them for a winter cache.
I cannot name
a single nut type anymore.
Or what it is that encases its edible kernel.
The tree roots soaked up many words.
The tree now pleads with me
when I trim its branches.
While relaxing in its shade,
the tree tells me how it feels
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney