Two Poems by Steve Klepetar

In the Trees

my father hangs all
night, his weight
bends tangled

branches, his voice
a murmur in summer
air. I wake in this restless

swirl of haunted
light, fingers tingling
pinpricks of stars.

Moonlight spills
over a canopy of
leaves. Below, hidden

beneath trunks
and grass, crickets
scratch out their hymns.

How his dangling
arms must stretch
and ache, swollen

palms streaked with
pollen, dirt and blood.
Fallen again he has come

to this pass:
old shadow churning
tides, flailing against

the armored bark of oaks.


Here’s what we left unsaid: polished
floor and sweet scent of bees
among yellowing leaves.
way to say goodbye. Behind that
hill, there’s a lake which turned
out to be a river
before your startled blue eyes.

How could you have known?
Soon we’ll be lost again in the season
of ice.
If no one speaks, we
could drown in metal-cold
air and leave footprints,
those ghostly steps, imbedded
in dead grass near frozen banks

Profile: Steve Klepetar

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