Brushes Branches May Not Rest Poem by James McLain

Brushes branches may not rest.
The tree limbs leaves the moss at rest.
Roots have brushed your other hand,
and I have heard the wind it moans as well.

Hidden from the child, I am in you.
Unlike all the rest I like day time there to rest.
Small and dark your almond eyes.
Pods of peas so green uncommon sweet.
And were you in the picking soon to wise?

Glimmers flicker it is thin and I am full with gloom.

The last bird, my last bird, I say to you have known.
Brushes branches may not rest and folding circles.
In the woods down by the farm I wait up on the fence.
And nets held up nets keep it up otherwise is flight.
Black the sky,
the ceiling low -how long or short the night.

No shadow of your face your smile I see for miles.