Counting the Days
The burdened trees at beginning of day
bent more, bent
lower, like a person tired after a hard day,
striving for an impossible goal,
knowing the search must carry on
to another day.
Small moments gather, tiny details —
like the randomness of common grackles
composing on the ground,
pricking their tails in the headwinds.
Not even snow flurries
unbundling out of nowhere
deterred those birds
from rushing headlong
into the empty tree branches,
then silence —
both were quick notations.
Waiting to Find Us
Someone senses their way through time
with a hushed breath, all the way to the edge
where no one listens but they should.
When that person reaches where they are going,
bone-weary, irredeemable, in what condition
will they be in?
There is a darkness within us. But overhead,
there is always a penetrating light
waiting to find us.
Martin Willitts Jr is a frequent poet in Black Poppy Review. He is a retired Librarian. He has over 10 full-length collections including forthcoming, "The Uncertain Lover" (Dos Madres Press).