Two aged limbs embrace.
The beginnings of a rope unravel
sharing weight and purpose,
Old comrades, propped up like drunks
touch and talk
shout insults at the wind,
rusty tugs with hawsers crossed - heaving hard.
A sylvan snake uncoils,
mummified with moss
and laced with lichen shrouds
A treetop conductor raises his baton,
the waiting wind clears her throat.
No soothing oils to stop the sound
no bandages to staunch the sap of boughs brought close
No frictions flame to cauterize the wound a wind-forced union,
weeps without eyes
A kissing game played out on bark-burned lips
crudely copied
by carefree,
rootless creatures
We've had a few nasty storms here in Kenton Ohio and I bet the branches were more than shouting insults at the wind. Most likely raising their bony fingers to flip the wind the bird :)
ReplyDeleteI envy how descriptive you are.
Thank you for your kind words. The weather's been so appalling here over the last few months I may do a whole elemental series to exorcise my frustration and S.A.D
ReplyDelete