Kenneth Pobo A Barred Owl Speaks to Me

KENNETH POBO ______________________________

Time throws an axe at my head. I don’t duck quickly enough. Wounded, I keep walking. The forest deepens

and darkens. A barred owl speaks to me with a charming owl accent. We talk about Butternut Lake which knows

many spring songs. A harpsichord inside an uncurling fern plays so I start to dance, no longer lonely. The owl

flies away. One feather drops on my shoulder. I suddenly know every word in the dictionary of trees.