It is always the dead
trees, unfleshed, that remind
me. Not those,
Soft fallen and hollow, but those,
naked as femurs, stiff as pikes
against stallion rains,
that even in death remain defiant.
Few birds deign to perch there,
save the vulture, the hawk, and
the occasional small,
swift falcon.
Image: Viktor Jakovlev on Unsplash
Sweet and Bitter Greens 