by Mark Fischweicher
xxxxxxFor Andy
Frost bites the ground I walk on
in the woods. Moss
carpets fallen limbs,
and leaves the cobbles lush
and verdant as some
random emerald gem.
On stones the lichen grows
like bark
and leads me thru the undergrowth
and leafless branches
thru the fallen twigs and leaves,
underneath the leaden skies,
which whisper
as I walk along
beside this frozen
glory.
Winter is alive.
Death seems to be unspoken
within these woods.
Who knows what lives or dies here?
Winter hides the crime
except among the pines.
Look up beyond the old and broken shoots.
No way to tell. Just
as you
remain to
be
to me.
Mark Fischweicher has been involved with poetry all his life. As an elementary, junior high school, high school and adult educator he has published poems at all those levels and has taught courses on the Beats, the Black Mountain Poets, Ezra Pound, and The New York School of Poets.