Extinctions in the Yellow Wood

For each decision taken
there’s a life left behind:

a cul-de-sac
in the evolution of the mind.

Mortality

For the first time
in almost a year
the fir looks alive:
fresh green growth
dripping jewel-like
from dark green branches.
 
And for a while
it has a green
that will die.


Prehistoric Eggshells

The lines inside the rolling fields
conflict.

But out of the hillsides
trees grow straight;
the stiff brown leaves
of a young beech
point one way.

We discuss old lovers.
And the cracked mud
crumbles
beneath our feet.

Tristan Moss

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Tristan Moss   would be pleased to hear them.