Behind Lush Oaks

Behind Lush Oaks

pages

they turn

back gently

to when I was

rather frail

blinded by a

frowzy mop

an ancillary

oddity behind

the lush oaks

bold enough

to write poems

in pen yet too

loath to dance

always on the

brink of being

swallowed

whole by sharp

plot maneuvers

            pages

they turn and

I read

them

nowadays

in a way that

betrays an old

sadness

in the same way

a wedding toast

always launches

with

a

joke

and

still

those lush oaks

are my sanctuary

***

Today’s early morning peck of poem. No prompt, it wrote itself after I consumed caffeine.

In propinquity,

Nic