by M.S. Rooney

A new bench

has been placed
by this rocky trail
in memory of a woman,
a woman unknown to me,
yet strongly present here.

Oak catkins above,
purple vetch below –
sweet benediction between.

***

We call it a hit,

a take,
that juicy bit we slice off,
carry away, name.
But when I declined
to cut, to label my discontent,
this day spread out, became
both of a piece and porous,
as common and as rare as the bark
on this cedar bough
just outside this window,
fretted with coming to be
and passing away,
formed only
by small movements,
by light and shadow,
one shaping the other,
the next.

***

 a love letter

whispers beneath the creak
of the mail slot opening
on a foggy evening
bringing words
from a tender heart
now glowing new again
gliding
through the brass mail slot
of home.

Angel Oak by Kevin Wenning on Unsplash