Our Compact Poem by Roger Gerald Hicks

In a redwood forest
where trees make love to clouds all night,
and squirrels cluck in the persimmon by day,
what sailors call a "blow" occurs
around noon -noticed because
light darkens, like Venetian blinds shutting.

On the patio, all manner of debris
& leaves float from trees,
huge green-yellow leaves fluttering like
a million Mariposa de la col
winging norte toward Rio Grande
in early summer,
shadowing dusty-pink earth below
to the color of dried blood

Inundated in molded leaves my jeep
resembles a college bulletin board:
rooms for rent w/ tear-off numbers
ads offering low-paying jobs
ancient VW's for sale
language and math tutors
"Found tabby: blind in one eye."

Nature permeates and controls in this forest
no concrete,
no TV droning morning till midnight.

Night
the frigid darkness of the grave
made bearable each morning by

Day
fire or no fire
moments of synchronicity
lacunas scary as my heart stopping

It is...only
the soft breathing of the sleeping girl,
who loves me for what we lack when apart,
that matters.