Poetry by Diane Webster
Sun-bleached log fell
as full-fledged, live tree,
but no one heard.
It laid like dead dinosaur
decomposing leaves and bark
into bony spine shape
scavengers scrapped
like toothpick spit out
on parking lot pavement.
Tree awaits discovery,
awaits display
in diorama museum,
awaits pretend leaves
to awe pointing patrons
like embalmed body
encased in glass.
About the Poet
Diane Webster’s goal is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life or nature or an overheard phrase. Many nights she falls asleep juggling images to fit into a poem. Her work has appeared in “the Aurorean,” “Word Fountain,” “River Poets Journal” and other literary magazines.
Vita Brevis Press. 
Excellent poem! Especially appreciate the precise use of language. Thanks for posting!