Today's poem is by Edmund August

Squirrel Hunting

You can sit in fallen leaves and gnawed hulls,
your back against a hickory, and close your eyes,

think of nothing about which you can speak,
nothing that could matter to anyone watching you.

Don't let the gossiping wind stir your thoughts,
whir in your ear and pretend to be innocent.

You can hear above such cover, hear nails on bark,
teeth wearing holes, shadow sounds that hide

in plain sight. Or you can be content just knowing
them and open your eyes to the blinding world.

Copyright © 2002 Edmund August All rights reserved
from Smartish Pace
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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