Psalm Sonnet 1: My Nervous Praise
Root lines twisting down over rocks
Look like strands of telephone wire
Running hundreds of miles away
To the river. The bank is steep.
And the trunk corrected a bit,
Righting itself toward the sun.
Years of flooding and wind have gouged
Away the rocks underneath it.
The tree gives thanks for the river,
But worries if the bank will hold.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
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