(the circle)


By Mike O’Connell
there are roughly drawn circles in the
deepest forests where ghosts of animals
dance stories revealing details of lives well lived share images of dreams squirrel
dreams flashing images of rabbit
memories drifting through the green
ethers spider shadows hold them together
just long enough to share with the wind
creating the heart of a supersystem
feeding living spirits all lessons
learned bounding through the continuum
nuancing the system with individual
secrets borrowing instincts from
ancestors gone for the giving
to run to leap into their own imagined
worlds holding up a sun to sing to
and a night to wrap around a warm
blanket of moss and dew subdued
by soothing songs led by purring
spirits of great cats and the howling of wolves forever
(Mike O’Connell 11/25/17)


1 thought on “(the circle)

  1. This poem reminds me of Watership Down. Now I want to frolic in the forest.


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