What Forest Park looks like in the fall from across the river.
Up the Ridge
The distant pines like sawblades
upturned, handles thrust into earth
as if some gruff woodsman heard the call
for lunch, intending soon to return.
The green bargains with the sky,
a compromise reached: nourish us.
Rigid spines like fingers massing
together, massaging, fabric gray.
In our smallest, glancing touches
tension rounds and softens
somehow, always space for more.