Tree limbs replace my bones.
A thing I do to feel rooted to a place.
I stand straddling a slight stream.
I am the Colossus of Rhodes.
In the hollow the wind swoops down
and steals my cap.
Smoke, miles filtered by pine needles,
is a barely recognizable sniff.
The forrest’s palpable pulse
requires shrewd awareness.
The canyon towhee’s backward hop
is most endearing.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney