No Water, No Ice

 

In sunlit brambles
Over my backyard stone steps:
Red winter berries.

 

 My hippy birdhouse,
Sitting on my front porch rail
Just attracts shadows.

 

 What's that reflection
In the old barn's small window--
Mailbox or a ghost?

 

A small picket fence,

Very neat, well constructed,

Surrounds a gas tank.

 

 Clouds now paint the sky
With fine lines and fuzzy brush
On a blue palette.

 

At base of the trees
Like an ancient Druid shrine--
Small circle of stones.

 

 How long will it stay--
This suspended dead white branch
Held by evergreens?

No water, no ice,
This small wood bridge now crosses
A river of leaves.

As the goat stands watch
Kids scamper through the dry field;
Hot dogs cook in fire.