
Where Branches Are Bare
Where branches are bare
snow comes down
and where ruby leaves have left
stars alight
upon alabaster boughs.
D. G. Vachal ©2026
Image by Manuel H. @pixabay

End of February
delicate brush strokes,
embroidery of deer
mouse tracks,
red fox paw prints
melt in the snow —
music
in the white silence,
aspen trees
trembling in the wind
put on flesh and sinew —
long have I shivered
in the cold,
long have I huddled
by the fire —
I only know
the long-awaited promise
draws near.
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Image by Oyvind Holmstad @ Wikimedia Commons https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pilegrimskulturlandskap_21.jpg

How Could You Ever Love Me
How could you ever love me
now
after so many winters past,
carved rivulets form
upon my face,
winter cold tunnels
furrow
nettled branches
upon my lips —
now
when my arms and legs
are krummholz,
tree branches
disfigured by cruel
north winds —
what ever do you see
in my tired eyes
the way one tenderly beholds
a newborn eaglet
breaking from its shell
expectant
for its maiden flight —
do you see beyond the farthest
ebony-ice mountains,
the mystery of the uttermost
remote white stars,
the silent moon,
disregard
the momentary sparkle
of the here and now —
how could you ever love me
bone and marrow,
petal and sepal,
root and river.
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Image by Susan-lu4esm@pixabay

1
flock of geese in flight
black petals against the sky
can you hear their call
on a sunset in winter
discordant harmonicas

2
trees in winter’s sun
cast long afternoon shadows
snow on their branches
wingéd angels garbed in white
singing praise in high places
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Images by Hans Benn @pixabay; Fietzfotos@pixabay
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