Today's poem is by Michael Goodfellow

Saw
       

The blade took
what you see

—not took,
turned up, cut trunk

held skyward.
Dead bark furrowed

the earth where it fell,
rot inside

the colour of dirt.
Not a blade

but a mouth,
hunger for burnt leaves

and flame.
Not what you see

but how it felt,
leaves felting the earth—

mass of years
back to ground,

round of a life
fell clear.

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Copyright © 2022 Michael Goodfellow All rights reserved
from Rust & Moth
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission