For a Last Page

a new poem

For a Last Page 

1

Through June’s 
green-veined 
fog-scape, 

draped 
in the seething 
of locusts, 

I stumble. 
Above, dark leaves 

appear to breathe 
and branches 
become a body 

fleshed out, 
flushed with summer. 


2

The last light of the day 
overtakes a bell tower 

crouched atop a rotting church. 
Sun, dropping now, 

gashes gray pines 
hinged to the horizon. 

I hear the bell in the absence of a bell

sounding out the shape 
of a shadow
blooming across the lawn.