Things fall away


 

the moment a tree

consoles with its rooted

 

stem that

stands and asserts what

you also bear

 

toward

the coherence of earth.

A mutual ken

 

crosses species      between

things that travel

and things that stay

 

in place. Leaves

give wind

its multiple voice

 

as they shift

your long recollection

of a soul’s green

 

night. You are again

a girl. Skip

Skip

 

Skip the tor

on the pavement.                 Hop

Hop

 

Hop over chalked

lines. You retreat

from old need.

 

A dog rests

     her head in your

     lap. A magpie

 

seems to know

how you feel

about song.

 

 

 

 
 

Anne Elvey

Anne Elvey is author of White on White (Cordite Books 2018), Kin (FIP 2014) and, with Massimo D’Arcangelo and Helen Moore, co-author of Intatto-Intact (La Vita Felice 2017). She is editor of hope for whole: poets speak up to Adani (Rosslyn Avenue Productions 2018), and managing editor of Plumwood Mountain.

More by Anne Elvey ›

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