Brian Rihlmann

I THINK IT’S ME


in the mountains at dawn
the edge of summer
huddles under ten foot drifts


a crow’s wings
brush the silence
and a chickadee sings
in a tree beautifully broken
and twisted
by a hundred winters


gnarled, stripped
and left for dead
but it will grow on
it will sink roots deeper
reach branches higher


a sunbeam 
pierces a cloud
shines on the valley below
a glass tower blazes
a pillar of light


and when the clouds drift away
a shadow appears 
on a sparkling canvas
of spring snow


a long shadow of a man 
walking alone 


the shadow raises a hand
and waves 
I think it’s me

If you enjoyed this piece by Brian Rihlmann you may also like the work of Ruth Aylett

The Ten Best American Poems


About the contributor

Related Articles

More Like This