~F. DANIEL RZICZNEK~

GREEN TREE MEMENTO

---

The day’s work waits beneath.
(Old, smoothed-down floorboards
or soil rich with worms.)
A pedal steel dies on the stereo
as you whisper: the irregularities
of teal flight, long dead dogs
huffing in the ice-bound reeds,
a litany of no-goods for a fine
suburban noon such as this.

The moon you cast is dark, the path
tumbling away into brush, into my

caught breath. The instant, opal glow
of a frozen buck’s predawn stare:
I’ve learned to labor by such light.

   

© by F. Daniel Rzicznek