Willowed Women

Weeping branches across tepid pond,

dipping in calling wind

rustling leaves to birth a symphony

cascading limbs reaching a crescendo

morphing with accompaniment of trilling peckers;

near-sighted singers, trembling warblers.

And in it’s timeless waiting

lines sink lower in abasement

extolled only by shadowed girls of white

pure through the bruises

radiant among brown speckled skin.

Yet as the leaves fall,

so do the freckles,

overturned by years of dark windows;

and waning light trapped between smudged windowpanes.

They land with the browned leaves

 

and all are trampled.

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