So what if leaves have not yet sprouted
on all these trees. Instead, we get powerful
trunks breaking into branches and more
branches up as high as my neck
will crane, and on one headless Gorgon,
snake-like arms yearning across the lawn.
The uppermost limbs, a flurry of black lace
against layered blue-gray sky, entice
a scrambling squirrel, who risks all
to leap at the next delicate foothold.
On a balmy March afternoon,
every bird twittering to one roost
after another is revealed. No place
to hide from my adoring eyes.
Harriet Geller lives in New York City and is retired after technical and financial management careers. She leads poetry workshops for retreats and local groups and has published poems in their newsletters and websites. Her latest work in a literary journal, arriving summer 2017, is “Noho Nocturne” in Third Wednesday.
