tree games

In the morning
as I’m shaving
on a bright and
windy day
I glimpse something
quickly passing
by the window
—second floor?

Nothing could be
near that window
Are my eyes
deceiving me?
Could it be
a bird in passing?
It repeats:
that cannot be.

Like an arm
I see it flying
cast a shadow
on the wall
and my heart
is fairly pounding
hold the sink
or else I fall.

Then of course
the comprehension:
it is just a
simple branch
that I saw
getting old:
can’t take a chance.


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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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