. . . . . i . . . . .

verses line the way
songfests for budding forests
— blue estuaries

. . . . . ii . . . . .

downeast memories
still seek their high-top sweetings
inside the garden

. . . . . iii . . . . .

lost harbors of hope
glass bees break open and buzz
pollinate the rose

. . . . . iv . . . . .

fox footprints appear
marks of long golden journeys
made within Maine woods

. . . . . v . . . . .

olive branches span
twelve centuries of dreaming
merry months of peace

. . . . . vi . . . . .

prolific women
still echo the times and tides
of ole Kennebec

. . . . . vii . . . . .

cold park trees become
creaking stairs in outer space
or just Skowhegan

. . . . . viii . . . . .

half a star above
filters clouds and cobblestones
outside the window

. . . . . ix . . . . .

ballad of the moose
personal geographies
rock us back to sleep

. . . . . x . . . . .

Mainers meditate
bright outcrops of crystal-light
touch their stubborn roots

. . . . .

Poet: Susan Powers Bourne
Source: Women.Poets.Maine
Process: Pick-mix cento haiku