voices clashing lines to an election
drafted on the canvas. Mornings
here afar covering American night news
are cold as Aschbach Walzweiher
long, wavering
lake’s strands of mist
hiding facts, lies
prolonged, ghost streaks hovering
behind unlawful deaths,
before trees find their reflection
people seeking clarity
once the sun penetrates the canyon
in a winding deep
valley. Trees beyond the forest
dense population, hurting,
find no comfort, their leaves
fragile from disease, exclusion,
falling before colors
exposed hate feelings
are coated. The woodlands
produce protests
cuddled, are warm enough
hitching looters ripping the truth
to paint fire yellow to red leaves,
a voice will rise
woven between stretched
tall, existing, loud
bark pines in their green collage,
speaking into the wind, unity. Below
only the Western Bracken ferns
the poisonous bottom feeders
are browning,
ivy with hands scratching society, crackle
now frail, retracting, widening
possibilities for change, finds
the path for acorns, pinecones,
new seeds, seeking fertile ground,
covering slot prints, hoof prints,
creating safe spaces with alarm
crunched as warning
from eight-minute demise
to deer, wild boar wandering,
to the voiceless
before winter’s rest.