Two Poems
There is a tree falling in our back lot,
a willow, gigantic and scarred, with torn limbs
hanging at oblique angles, its base a tangle
There is a tree falling in our back lot,
a willow, gigantic and scarred, with torn limbs
hanging at oblique angles, its base a tangle
I have dreamt a dream of fulfillment, of freedom:
she was an old woman, with a face like the moon,
first full with reflection, then new and dark, and then