By the road to the military hospital

under the surge of mountain blue

malt clouds driven south,

I was brown leaves living.


Patches of frozen water

scattered under Aspen.


Along the parade ground torture

the trees undressed in lines

by the numbers, always by numbers.


Spring was along time away

lifeless and naked.


Long purple branches uncertain

at the winter breath,

one by one, inhabitants marched out

a stark line of groved men

meeting nothing but a duty time bell.



Dave Barber

24 Oct 08

Natural Laws