A Poem a Day (689): Alight

  
They stand in line,
ushered in by the west wind,
 
cards majestic without pose,
neither Jack nor Queen nor King,
 
pegged to split this nestled earth
and yet they anchor us still.
 
They harbour ghosts with no direction,
pursue history and press pause.
 
Grey wolves brush their limbs, listen
to their whispers, marking ground,

but lightning cannot hide its vengeance,
and struck these matchsticks light.
 
Glowing leaves in flight chase scarlet.
From a dip in the hills comes a streak
 
of sirens, the battle cry of the many
come to save nature’s living awe.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, September 3, 2024