new zealand electronic poetry centre
   Capital of  the minimal
J e a n n e   B e r n h a r d t
The Snow Poems



The tree is tired
it came and stayed
each moment on behalf of us
pale inside its strong
black skin
moving toward fire

on the edges of its own, one of many
not ordinary
grieving calling welcome
light radiant, in green breath-full

willingly this old trunk bends
carrying high in its branches
such sure consciousness
it calls me tree while
silent, inward, in fierce joy
a cardinal dances

Jeanne Bernhardt 2004




Last updated 13 July, 2004