empty
my pockets are
not, not when red leaves fall
on fern-bogged trails, my hands gather
feathers,
pinecones,
blue-green river
tides, snow-capped mountains, trees,
birdsongs, sky's blue, my chest swelling-
joy-packed
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB: Cinquains Revisited, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg. Thanks for your visits and comments.
