Do This

It was those few important degrees above ice as we raced through the wet
forest this morning among the green aliens.
The desiccated husks of anise had no sweetness for the sky.
The river was too busy to look up, pushing hard, his black skin steaming.
Silent as the future, deer flitted behind the screens of stone and wood.

The new cob sun annealed the flaws of the quiet world.
“Do this,” the stones whispered, but all I could do was gulp at the air.


  • Erin Alexander commented on 2023/04/04

    Wow!!! Beautiful Pol…and so quietly powerful…! Thank you

  • Pól commented on 2023/04/04

    Thank you, Erin! 🙂

  • Patunia commented on 2023/04/04

    Husks of anise had no sweetness for the sky
    River pushing too hard to look up…black skin steaming
    Screens of stone and wood
    New cob sky

  • Bryan Aquino commented on 2023/04/24

    I do enjoy a nice gulp at the air! Thank you for sharing your thoughtful poem. You’re missed, and not mist, and photographed mist. ;p

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