Not By Bread Alone by Elizabeth Ayres

The old oak wakes in the night     to a whispering
wind. “There is something,” the murmuration begins, “something
in us that lives,” the susurration continues, “something in us that lives
beyond time and rain and sunlight.”
                                  
                                   Dubious,
the tree shakes its leaves in a futile effort     to rid itself
of these stars tangled in my branches, falls

                                     back to sleep, dreams
 
of silver saplings sprouting
                                  when silver acorns fall.


About Elizabeth Ayres
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