Saturday, January 18, 2014


Birch Grove
By Stephanie Williams

Broken skin on the birch trees;
curled silver taking in the light
and returning a muted glow to the air.
I wonder, do they prefer this smoky light
to the carnival glare of unbridled sun?
There is a gravity about the atmosphere,
as if they hold some deciduous secret,
waiting for it to be unlocked.
It's all about trees at the bar...climb on up. 

1 comment:

  1. Birch trees are my favorite trees. "Curled silver" love this line. Really enjoyed your poem.