Thunder song tucks me in
under her heavy body, remembers
me when I knew the burr oak,
very young when clouds
shared infinity with me, time a
whisper of an idea. I do not
miss that home, exactly, always lost anyway
to settlers who stepped on fallen leaves.
I miss older days, even
before acorns and lightning
when the hills were longer,
we were younger and lay still,
grass bending quietly,
quietly.
orphan poems 