Oaks

by Walter Durk

We look inward to see
the reality of ourselves in a mirror.

Young, winter air stimulates flesh.
Invigorated
we stand as oaks
persevere through turbulence
unscathed.

Thick limbs flail
pressed against a slate grey sky.

Dreams evolve into reality,
Flesh less sensitive
to the cold bite.
We stand as oaks
persevere
feeling the press of air.

Dis-assemble first limbs
then trunk
for new things.

We age, we rush
to the void.

22-Oct-2006

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