Hoping it is only temporary
A water-color stand of birches, limbs entwined,
leaves rustling against each other
in ongoing conversations.
Until weather cools
and the leaves drift away.
Winter winds and the birches fall.
Papered bark sheds away words,
the conversations fall to sleeping earth.
The silence shatters the peace
of communal souls, merged muses.
The heart of the birch bleeds;
tear stains blurring the poetry.