within the branches, bark, leaves,
knots, lines, and even the holes.
Outside my window, weather moves
the mouth to shift from smirk to purse.
Sometimes, a thin smile becomes
an open circle, whispering, Wow, No,
Yes, More, You, Rest, Soon, Here,
only to silently close, depending
on the rush. Eyes open, slit or shut,
half-hidden by tattered, green, thin
or thick lashes, the sideburns, scruff,
and beard come and go. Brows grow
and disappear. Cheek bones close in,
hollow out, and with one simple storm,
she vanishes -- enough -- and he turns
full. Perhaps God, perhaps someone
small, dead or alive, sends thoughts,
a prayer drifting across the miles,
an expression riding the edge of one
lost and found lip, one single breath,
until the moment erases all features,
beginning again. There is no telling.
C.A. MacConnell
hollow out, and with one simple storm,
she vanishes -- enough -- and he turns
full. Perhaps God, perhaps someone
small, dead or alive, sends thoughts,
a prayer drifting across the miles,
an expression riding the edge of one
lost and found lip, one single breath,
until the moment erases all features,
beginning again. There is no telling.
C.A. MacConnell
