In Tree Light

By Eric Greinke

The white pine outside my window

grows old in the summer heat.

A robin sings its old song,

then flies away, music gone.

A woman in an apple dress

makes everything briefly red,

then passes by like an old wound.

The land is fragile as a match

burning fitfully in the wind,

but we sleep inside its sap

feeling the drumming of our blood.

We all love the sudden instant

when daylight steals our dreams.

You can feel your own dark heart heal,

that boat that leaks and breaks

just as you reach the distant shore.


Eric Greinke has two new Presa Press books scheduled for 2016, Poets In Review (a collection of forty-six reviews written from 1972 to the present) and Zen Duende – Collaborative Poems with Glenna Luschei (which includes Lone Bones, published in this issue of Forge for the first time).

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