He walks the forest floor, eyes on the ground,
the canopy of leaves deflects the rain,
the branches interlock and form a chain.
The rotting stumps lie littered all around.
The deer lies on the path, twisted in pain.
He walks the forest floor, eyes on the ground,
the canopy of leaves deflects the rain.
There now is silence, where once there was sound
of chainsaws and of animals now slain.
The wilderness reduced to barren plain.
He walks the forest floor, eyes on the ground,
the canopy of leaves deflects the rain,
the branches interlock and form a chain.
—
Louis Faber is a poet and writer living in Florida with his wife (a fellow poet) and their cat (their editor). His work has appeared widely in the U.S., Canada, Europe, and India and in Cantos, The Poet (U.K.), Alchemy Spoon, Dreich (Scotland), Tomorrow and Tomorrow, Defenestration, Atlanta Review, Glimpse, Rattle, Pearl, The South Carolina Review and Worcester Review, among others, and was twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
