new zealand electronic poetry centre
  
   Capital of  the minimal
J e a n n e   B e r n h a r d t
Your self of lost ground

 
THEY SPOKE OF TREES
 

They spoke of trees these quiet sitters, hands folded
in their laps between the lapping of elm and hickory
a query in love that moved them to stand
and offer to the room, how still the moment
became
here where absence is mindful,
gold and green and hard oak benches
each mention of leaves, a pale stairway
the silent tread of other mornings
recalled and made present by your side

 
 
 

 
Jeanne Bernhardt 2004

 


 

 


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Last updated 13 July, 2004