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Capital of the
minimal J e a n n e B e r n h a r d t |
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Your self of lost ground |
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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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