Hollow Again by Paul J. Willis (Quercus agrifolia) Look at this trunk, burnt hollow,      keyholed from side to side.           Yet, in spite of a few dead limbs,                a crown of leaves pushes against the patient sky. So we might      flourish, in spite of ourselves,           evacuated of fortitude. Paul                said it: in weakness, strength; in death, […]

Listen by Paul J. Willis A lake lies all alone in its own shape. It’s not going anywhere. A lake can wait a long time for a hiker to come and camp on its shore. It will reflect the moonlight, give him a drink of pale silver. Toward dawn, the wind might ruffle it a […]

Piano by Paul J. Willis The summer you were seven you could hardly sleep that night before your first recital. “I’d rather break my arm,” you said. Which is what you did with an hour to spare. We could blame the dog who chased you into the glass door, but that would be dumb. A […]

Bearpaw Meadow by Paul J. Willis Incense cedar, elderberry, scattered chapels of white fir. Cones stand up like paper squirrels on the branches, waxing resinous in sun—light of the year yet lingering with warmth in plenty, here, now, an afternoon in folded grass and browning nests of bracken under broken granite, lucid sky. Stillness after […]

Seed Money by Paul J. Willis (Pinus monticola) The first white pine of the morning is holding up fistfulls of dollars, currency of June-green cones, ready cash soon to be invested in land, far-flung properties ripe for speculation, bonds that grow, yielding interest that never ends.                                   Compared to this, the silver coins of aspen leaves […]

Ambition by Paul J. Willis One oar, then another, stirs the water. Ripples gather at the prow, a wake appears. You watch them as if they measure destiny. This takes a life. Finally you learn to drift. The horizon is enough to see on every side. A boat will carry you where you are. —from […]