Boreal Lungs

That I might drink and leave this world unseen,
And with thee fade into the forest dim –
(Keats – Ode to A Nightingale)

North to the lake in search of reprieve
Only envy walking the forest trails – a deciduous tree,
unfurling into the broadest expanse of light, twists
its spine, veins infused blue then yellow rays,
knows green until earth tips north and ethylene
is released – sleep is on its way! It will not feel Winter’s bite.

I cannot sleep, I cannot sleep – neither the comfort of my dog,
crisp boreal air, scent of burning cedar, deep bath.
I twist and turn, night to night.

Fade far away, dissolve and quite forget
What thou amongst the leaves have never known

The last battalion of yellow jackets circle
the glass of red wine emitting signals warmth, sweet.
An occasional crow and gull heard over the golden orbs
of leaves

…[ my] dull brain perplexes and retards.

On the third morning, Wind dies. Frost
is a caravan of insects scratching, in the tall grass
until dispersed in tangerine light.

Published by FreeFall, Fall/Winter 2016 issue