published in the Winter 2000 issue
of The 2River View
In The Thin Light Of November
Trees made to relinquish their color,
stand, stick fingers in cold wind
A black bird sits on bent branch
cawing again and again
Below, a stray dog watches him
with sick uncomprehending eyes
Oh, world of air, transparent,
fleeting breath,
How quickly, quickly,
we move towards our death.
©Tasha 2000
