Saturday, January 18, 2014

Birches

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.

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