Friday, February 24, 2012

XXIV: Winter Trees

There is not one clinging leaf remaining
in all of this wild and rugged wood
and the wind speaks with only a vacant whisper
without foliage to stir into song.

This entire stark assembly
of gloomy oaks and elms
awaits the glad growth of springtime
to clothe their bare brown bones.

Until then, they make no attempt
to hide their skeletal silhouettes
which, in the uppermost heights,
reach with tiny brittle fingers,
like exposed fibrous roots
sprawling up, grasping at the air,
hungering in vain for vital nourishment
as if the trees were planted upside-down,
their verdant crowns hidden away
in dark and frigid soils
until that mirthful season
when a million joyous leaf-banners
will be unfurled in this place again.

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