by David Anson Lee

 

We arrange our lives
around what we can name:
cooling coffee,
the clock’s small insistence.
But the real work
happens beyond speech.

In the orchard, an owl
rehearses the dark,
each branch memorized,
each rustle beneath leaves
a question answered without doubt.

Wind smells of hay.
Trees exhale shadow.
I stand still long enough
to hear what is not meant for me.

Even silence
has a craft.

David Anson Lee is a poet whose work explores memory, landscape, and the intersections of personal and ecological attention. His poems have appeared in numerous literary journals, including Ink Sweat & Tears, Braided Way, Eunoia Review, Silver Birch Press, Right Hand Pointing, and Unbroken Journal, among others. He lives in Texas.