to a moss-covered log
heron wingbeats
Author: Dave Bonta
I live in an Appalachian hollow in the Juniata watershed of central Pennsylvania, and spend a great deal of time walking in the woods. My books of poetry include FAILED STATE: HAIBUN, ICE MOUNTAIN: AN ELEGY, BREAKDOWN: BANJO POEMS, and ODES TO TOOLS.
tree crickets
am I walking
the right way
slow fall
the standing dead
turn blue
fog saved in a cobweb
so lifelike
death in autumn
that inevitable cliché // the deplorable rightness of nature
safety orange
among blood-colored leaves—hunting season
fallen hornets’ nest
the empty days
in his pocket calendar
fallen tree
the skeleton it wasn’t
up and down
these ancient mountains
my wobbly knees
praying mantis
the sacrament’s
exoskeleton
Old Man of the Woods
returning to the grove
he planted
moonlit forest
the giant
my father was
