The Near Wood

I have nothing to say to these woods and they

have nothing to say to me.

Wordless, I stare

at them; and, there,

they stare back, silently.

Something we should

have said - that wood

and I, but long ago.

We are too grown

into one bone

to speak now of what we know.

of 5 stories this month > Get unlimited stories
You've read 5 of 5 free stories

Only $1 for your first month.

Get unlimited Monitor journalism.