Jennifer Wallace – Ⅰ
Forest
Flat gray and moss green. Tapestry.
And occasionally, God’s breath: wind.
A last leaf flutters like a long-ago kiss.
Seal
The wind has shifted
and gusts now over a roofless heart.
Bone-smooth logs teeter on the cobbles, sun nudges through.
A single feeling rises
like the seal pup’s doe eyes
lifting from under the metal waves.
Storm
Whoever said the world should be clear?
Without the sun’s big gleam, there’s more to see:
the thump of thought, your real shadow.
Flat gray and moss green. Tapestry.
And occasionally, God’s breath: wind.
A last leaf flutters like a long-ago kiss.
Seal
The wind has shifted
and gusts now over a roofless heart.
Bone-smooth logs teeter on the cobbles, sun nudges through.
A single feeling rises
like the seal pup’s doe eyes
lifting from under the metal waves.
Storm
Whoever said the world should be clear?
Without the sun’s big gleam, there’s more to see:
the thump of thought, your real shadow.