by Eric Rosenbloom
In the cool dark sky the weather weary moon
Winks and the trees, the daughters of the earth,
Strip their bodies bare for sacrifice.
Autumn’s kiss reveals the anguished faces
Writhing in the cracked and pale bark,
Yet still, a patient bride trusting and sure.
Their bed is soft with golden leaves,
Each breath of wind a shiver answers,
Gold leaves browning on her father’s earth.
The first blush fades from inflamed red to rose to paler
Gray darkness creeping through the shorter days
That veil in winter’s soft and silent shroud her love.
The sky rests on snow-matted beds of death,
In the depth of heaven imagining birth,
A son that re-awakes the trees to bursting green.
All our blood is red, our bones chalk white
The trees before us rise from earth and sing to sun,
Whose golden glow is full of promise and foreboding.