Pine Loaf

In daylight the upper limbs of an upright pine
uphold a flock of skylit pine cones that remind
me of juvenile mourning doves ready for flight.

At night Venus shines: too bright for me to pay
attention to such details as the smaller parts of
evergreens, only the pine’s halogen-soaked trunk.

Sleepless later I wander outside to see Jupiter
court Spica and watch white oaks, restless, writhe
in the wind around the gyrating trunks of tall pines.

Come morning, I find my head has cleared enough
to toss out the over-dry loaf of bread I had baked
for a neighbor, and the shadows seem to say thanks.

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