There’s a leaf with bone eyes.
—–Alan, 27 October 2007
A lost friend stares from the trail.
She’s born with leaves, with strange
markings for eyes. A sunset is pebbled
into this mountain where no one finds
anyone, and every ghost sings their trees
to heaven, and a few crows fade to wood.
Do not ask forensics how she smiled.
Cover the fields with snow drifts, listen.
Shame the deep gullies into ape songs,
then play a leaf with bone eyes, move
this drought into your own village,
play the last place and time you remember,
and fall towards the evening wrens
with God and fossils gambled for home.