Artwalk POETRY and ART

Shrouded by the pearly tears of night’s early mist
the tree stands sentinel in twilight’s garden
its branches bare spokes
poking through the suburban inertia
into nature’s undying honesty.

The walnuts have fallen
cracked by squirrels and crushed underfoot
they blacken and stain
and blend into dirt.

But next year the fruit will green
and ripe and round again
and will land with a thud
on table, chair, and garden shed

And still the tree stands sentinel
keeping the dreams and desires of twilight’s garden
even when cloaked in night’s darkened shawl.