But what beauty shall I find in you?
With your dry, cold, shallow sunlight
peeking in, mid-low between skeletal bodies
The forest an ensemble of standing giants
in a collective coma.
The length of your winter
a continuity that makes me wonder how this place,
and sepia toned,
was once an overabundance of
A wealth of green and colorful birds.
A wood thrush calls from the lustrous and prurient canopy.
The high sun winks a promise it will never keep.