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  • Peter Blanchard

Woodpeckers at the Cross

Poem and images by Peter Blanchard


Early Easter morning I went to the woods.

I’d never seen so many woodpeckers,

Their eager sound filling the forest,

Their labor echoing from every crux and limb.

Dismantling death to find life.

The tree had done its work,

Its demise swallowed up in victory.




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