Trees dance

Trees dance

They are not very quick

On their feet

But oh

Do they sway.

I am a shadow on the wall

An imprint

Pressed into plaster

A wallflower.

The hawk rips at wet flesh

In a flurry of blood and fur

The tree is impassive

Dancing on its own,

Outside time.

An old hag spits

Into the snow

Black gobbed tobacco

Happy in her own skin.

Tombstone eyes

Chill me spineless

Tightly bound people

Float in my night sight

Wrapped against the weather

Held together

With cat gut and piano wire.

Wild sprites tickle

The old bones

White as elephant tusks

Too brittle for pyrotechnics

Too glum for fun.

Old lags croak like bullfrogs

As young green sticks play

Silly buggers

And fickle winds blow

Powdered snow into mountains.

Wind chimes tinkle

On a veranda

Lovers press together

In the lee of an old Oak

The Hawk takes flight

Grizzly prize

Tightly held

Dripping bloody spots

Onto soft, pale skin.

Night music drifts

From a radio

On a windowsill

And beneath the velvet,

Hungry ghosts

Flicker in and out of life.