Wooden Dreams

Gray marbled white, bleak, wild sky

Pearly cracks filled with a cold mockery of warmth and sunlight

Wild winds whip low to earth

In pursuit of a far-past spring, like a lost child crying out

Trying to find a memory of dew-strewed petals and bubbling brooks

Gently the lifeless trees murmur

Of quiet and rest, nodding their creaking branches,

They drift off to their wooden dreams of summer afternoons

Evening silently falls into place

Its last light falls in the gleam of a bird’s eye,

On its way home, already thinking of the breezy valleys and gurgling rivers

And the leaves set sail, released at last

One last breath of wind, touching down upon the hard earth with a sigh