Ears, eyes and Feet

 

An eye of brick

crowned anew by ribbons of forest

overlooks winter bleached finery.

 

Wooden fingers protrude

verdigris, emerald,

pinioning a gunmetal sky.

 

Spring wakened a coot

on his turn  

see, there is an eye, behind.

 

A trunk, but hardly hardwood legs protrude,

belying a modesty of liveliness

not seen, below, if they are feet, legion.

 

Rubrous veins hatch their ambush

amidst thickets, preventing our gaze

beyond, this cold day.

 

Elder magic, bring to us

the gift of sacred hearing

the suns’ steady drumming advances.