Forest of Hardwoods

She had always danced within the trees,
neverminding the branches,
until that day she vanished
into the calls of the katydid.

I see her now
as a sad old heron
standing guard in the
edgewater of a toadless pond.

I will not open the bottle of
hypocrisy pills and tell her my thoughts
as if a drunkard
bemoaning the ills of drink.

I live in the house of seven fables,
joust at windmills,
dream of days in the branches,
and wish I had sat with her for a time.

Bobbie Kilzer Gogain