• Flux Magazine

"While We Wait" by Cristian Tamayo

Beneath the tree is a silhouette of a woman I once knew.

The dog lying beside her there is weary too.

It’s a holy sort of sight.

I’m thinking about the intricacies of the trees.

Their defiance against destruction and death,

despite decay, the season’s turning.


Some of the trees twist, spreading in every direction, 

some incline toward the earth 

while most fixate on reaching the heavens.


And, I’m reminded of a poem or at least I think it’s a poem.

The details have gone the way the leaves do downwind.


So, instead all I’m left with is this

a not-so-distant half-remembered notion 

of what I think is a poem 

about nature and temporariness.


Loving and losing and letting go.

I’m considering all this 

and much more 

in the short walk toward her. 


Even in those brief moments,

the silence is deafening and dark. 

I am trying, at least in my mind,

to occupy that space with some noise and light.






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