Poema da Semana #11

Choices

I go to the mountainside
of the house to cut saplings,
and clear a view to snow
on the mountain. But when I look up,
saw in hand, I see a nest clutched in
the uppermost branches.
I don’t cut that one.
I don’t cut the others either.
Suddenly, in every tree,   
an unseen nest
where a mountain   
would be.

Tess Gallagher

Deixe uma resposta

O seu endereço de email não será publicado. Campos obrigatórios marcados com *