the witch oak

the witch oak
hung over riverbend and grass verge
white sky full of geese

stands of trees lining uphill across the stream march along archback hillcrest and hollow
can't see the geese but the sky sounds with their calls from three directions flying over
before storm and after echoing from granite faces of these old rocks cropped up ashore
a lone emergent haystack in a sea of prairie and woodland stripped down by turtles creek
rolled halfway up hill and falling down the leafcovered boulder takes its rest by the stream
crows rivet the sky's bed with mockery then pull air under their throats as a boy-thrown
stone thocks against naked tree bole to rattle down into mulch moss lichen and brownleaf
the silent rockcut above the creek no voice of its own reflects dogs barking overhill at geese

moving towards winter the witch tree's arms conduct
a chorus of wind cloud and spitting rain