TAP ROOT

Buddha preaches 

the world blinks 

when you do, 

disappears 

when you do, 

you would think 

these small things 

would survive:

blue-vinegar pines, 

resin-caked black nails 

of nimble squirrels—

the one tree in which 

you carved your initials 

to survive through either 

a din or a bright eternity

 A FOLLOWING

Everything weeps. The moon

weeps moonlight. Hills weep

lost balance.

As does the sky. The clouds.

A single blade of grass weeps

frost in November.

Earth weeps half the time. No wit.

Earth in your eyes. Birds weep 

in closed nests.

Pardon grief. It shakes a beautiful

world. The world weeps in secret 

for grief.

A template. A smothering of love mud. 

A mother’s rose bush weeps petals 

without rain

Tim Brennan is a UW-Eau Claire grad and former Altoona resident. Brennan’s poetry can be found in Volume One, Barstow & Grand, and Rochester Art in the City. Brennan’s one act plays have played across the USA, including stages in Milwaukee, Colorado Springs, Taos, N.M., and internationally in England and Mexico. Read more of his work on VolumeOne.org.