Ellen White Rook

The Flute Says

I’m realizing you don’t put your boots on and your gloves on
and go sift through stuff.  There’s nothing to sift through  
—Janice Matthias

Yesterday I walked
under milky haze
of far-off fire
five million acres gone

In death
the elements dissolve
earth falls to sky
and wind
a curious opacity
so far above 

so far away
we breathe easily

This morning 
the unmoored sun 
pulls the yellowed silk sky taut 
behind dark trunks
and wrinkled leaves 

On any other continent
the air’s weave
dense as stones
would be beautiful

A flute 
breathes like home
or branches
always the middle
of a loosened melody

Hearing:
the last sense 
to fail
still 
we miss
beginning
and the end

nothing to sift through

Ellen White Rook is a poet and teacher of contemplative arts residing in Delmar, NY, and South Portland, Maine. Retired from a career in information technology, she now offers writing workshops and leads Sit, Walk, Write retreats that merge meditation, movement, and writing. She also teaches ikebana, Japanese flower arranging. Ellen is a graduate of the Master of Fine Arts program at Lindenwood University. Her work has been published in New Verse News, Red Rock Review, Rock & Sling, Black Fork Review, New Note Poetry, Trolley Literary Journal, and more. In 2021, two of her poems were nominated for Pushcart Prize. Read more of her work at ellenwhiterook.com.