In a Winter Forest

by Jim Farfaglia

In a Winter Forest

 

I love how my heart can still be moved:

fifty-seven years old,

having beaten through darkness and light –

 

yet it flutters anew meeting a startled doe,

then settles once more,

listening to the rhythm of a rambling brook.

 

It grows heavy finding a dying field mouse,

and melts – it’s melting still  –

witnessing snow make way for a determined green.

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