Voicemail Poems

Here we are among snow and ash. Cracked from saw or harsh November winds. We are wood always moving. Bit of flesh from birch, oak, cedar. Stacked for burning. Once I was home to a little ant, he swallowed my bones. Built a little city. More crawled in. They made me warm in winter. Little curling creatures. I said, soak more from soil, make each splinter firmer. My god we grow. Leaves arrived fat, cradling bubbling dew. I tell you I know what it is to be a universe. Tonight leaves turning ash first reach for sky then they fall and they fall. To be turned into nothing. ————————————– Oisín Rowe called us from Boston, MA. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems x.com/voicemailpoems bsky.app/profile/voicemailpoems.bsky.social instagram.com/voicemailpoems