THE WINTER WOOD

THE WINTER WOOD

The Winter Wood foreboding;
trees spindly, knotted fingers, stretching upward
in worship of darkness
calling dusk forward; light without.

The Winter Wood leafless;
in whose cold grip sit many exposed nests bare
to which we go varied in despair
gobbled whole; gobbled quickly, without a gasp.

The Winter Wood surrounds;
on their limbs acrid winds shake and pound
not a chirp, not a yell, one uttered sound
thousands of twitching branches clawing the moon.

In Wood Winter darkness creeps;
behind trunks it hides, tiptoeing across creeks
swallowing up bread crumb trails, its secrets to keep
erasing haphazard footprints before dawn

to again at dusk await
your pair of feet.