Quatrains by Don Thompson

December Fields

 

The day ends in mid-afternoon,

Already exhausted, the year’s

Last light soaked up by dry brush.

It gets dark before dark.

*

 

After

 

Moonlight smokes among trees

Stripped bare and blackened.

You still taste ashes

Years after the fire’s gone out.

*

 

Pool

 

A frog crosses its known world,

Leaving clouds of mud in the shallow water.

This pool will be dry next week,

But frogs know where to start over.

*

 

Temenos

 

The fenced land glows in the distance.

It’s quiet enough to hear insects whisper

Secrets in a language that’s dead to us.

Somewhere out there a bush is burning.

**