PHYLLIS BECK KATZ, POET
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POEMS/ Morning

Picture‪
Morning

First light. A few cars rumble
past, a solitary jay complains
from the tall pine, a muffled runner
moves thin determined legs
along the dark road. The air feels
cold and empty, with nothing
to show that I was here, whirl
of  the wind’s passing. The fox
leaves his scent on the tree roots
for the world to smell, while I
have made few tracks in the earth’s
mud, left none of my hair caught
in the barbed wire around the pasture
from a daring leap for the freshness
of spring buds, my voice drowned
by chattering finches in the bare birch.


From Migrations (Antrim House, 2013)
 

Copyright 2018, Phyllis Beck Katz. All rights reserved.