h(owl)-at-(the)-moon
eat words made from the trees
never planted in the backyard
where dogs run laps
as the moon howls an iridescent message
scrawled across the sky
and made to make out like it means something
when it means nothing
Fred Aiken Writing
Tag: tree
October 16, 2024
April 23, 2023
Wallowing Whispers Whooping Around
wind whispers through the trees,
crying a lullaby to put the mind at ease,
as leaves ruffle to a divine rhythm,
symphony in a jagged line,
lacking melody, the air grows stale and cold,
a soulful song that clamps up the moment it is sung
Fred Aiken Writing 