The tips of trees on a pale winter sky
are like broken capillaries on a sad old face, they
feather out against smudgy clouds
on a black hill
A vapory half moon hovers
over our footprints,
the land is old.
Unspoken stories move over it
memories embedded in all things
Our footprints melt.
Memory embeds in us too.
Kim lives in Maine, which is lovely, and where she continues her enthusiastic relationship with Art, Music, Nature, Books, Animals, Humor and Trees.