Lori DeLozier


Light embraces October, meeting salt
to blood; the worn-down ground
an under-darkness where fruit is torn out:
the red-ochre hearts of persimmon.
Here, the fir's memory
imagines its past: empty oriole nests,
rain sounding on needles like wings,
and the wind that's never quite pacified
unwinding its shining body.
Made real is the forebrain's doom
and delight--inside the canvas,
a trespassing path
where season carries the painted
spirit, unharmed
but always hungry. Behind every tree,
like a secret,
dark throats
swallow golden apples.

Location: Oklahoma / New Mexico
Occupation: Professional writer and teacher
Email: waterblue@gcinet.net
Publications: Zuzu's Petals, Westview, Illyah's Honey, Rural Heritage, Amaze, etc.

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