The aspen grove is still
But for the fading beat of a summer
Monsoon, washing clean
The bright towering trees
Gold medallions hang
On spindly branches and shiver
Under the slightest breeze
The smallest bead of rain
A damp carpet of vibrant green
Beneath my feet
Patterns of light and shadow
Pass over the earth as deeply it breathes
Ashen trunks stand and sway
Speckled with a hundred
Knotted eyes, their gaze
Falls on passing deer
On the pale skin of one
Lonely tree is a wrinkled
Scar never to heal
Crude heart encircling
The deep cut legend
M.H.B
A.J.S
1987
Six letters and a date
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