The Trees Are Dead

A double-trunk tree stood

two grown into one

two in an infinitesimal

dance of mirth, their join

a slowly twisting caress

An arc of light

a blade in flight

wooden strokes

woodman strains

The trees are dead

against the snow

black cuts on white

winged creatures

as mysterious and ominous

as snow angels fey children carve

The trees are dead...

cold so still it binds

the day an arrow to the chest

snow so sere it blinds

the darkest night hangs nigh

A wooden echo escapes

something fell

as strange as spring...

the double-trunk tree

iron sunk to the core