the winter sunlight is brief but lilac bright
glamorizing woodland, bold burnished bark
and polished floors of desiccant decay
brittle as bones and drip-dried handkerchiefs
after our mourning has sapped every memory
of that visceral vitality
it's so much clearer in the clearings
all the canopy has finally pulled back
retreating before the year has time to pass
and torn from lichened masts, some of the last tatters
scatter and fall far from their beginnings
yew berries, fast fading fungi and a few untidy nests
ruminations mulled like wine for meanings
perhaps they are presentiments or something like salvation
at this fir tree festival of birth and offerings.
Uniting with other poets for this week’s Poetry Pantry
PoetryPix 