Five Willows poetry

the aspens

standing in the glacial till

where the river rocks drift

along the slow seasons

consecrated of root and thorn
illuminated by leaf and berry

practicing mindfulness again

after hard years of becoming

there’s a sad feeling of being

simply awkward and old

but the communion with silence

evokes the quietest of sounds

touchingly and achingly clear

the linen white boles of aspens

the spring green leaves

trembling