Artists in Exile
We expect the boughs to lift
And let the next clean line
Pierce the halflight of our solitude,
The great black trunks
Holding back the night.
Between the savage and the spare,
Let silence rule, let talking end;
The groundhog sleeps beneath the moss,
The cranefly shelters in the dusk,
The damage serves us well.
copyright 2010 J. O'Brien, all rights reserved
