Monday Poem

My breathing system seems to be:
these lungs within; without: those trees
……………………….. —Inspiration.


There are mountains in this pic of withered leaves—
as from a satellite

and voids

in shadows they recede

but I see
brittle peaks

bright spines
curling from dead stems
dry as earth desiccated by the practices
of men:

light filaments
that have broadcast life and breath:

sucked dioxide carbon in,
transmuted it like alchemists then
expired it as oxygen

dry lungs of trees
alveoli complements

sister lungs as close and tight as twins; consider:

when that one dies
this one withers

by Jim Culleny

Withered Leaves