
little church stands between
the old route road and the big woods
with a faith of clapboard and a peace of stained glass


Where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry.

As winter edges closer
the woods become rust and grey.
Only the sound of one’s own footsteps
mulching leaves
interrupts the silence.

From the sanctuary of the woods animals watch
the metal bridge that carries man and his many parcels and purpose
to the other side and back again.