The Hollow of Time
Tree roots line the way
like columns of ribs,
as if a body lies unformed.
The shadows of branches
lie much the same.
The sun is cold and bright.
So much more flows
along this path,
unbidden.
Messages fly --
seeking memory.
Such as it is --
not enough simply
to walk or look for
moss on ledges.
So much more flows,
yet birds still sing.
Meg
Smith
Meg
Smith is a poet, journalist, dancer and events producer living in Lowell, Mass.
Her poetry has appeared or has been accepted to The Cafe Review, Star*Line,
Illumen, Pudding, Dreams & Nightmares, and more.
Tags:
Poetry