Naked watchers stand as silent, holy congregants –
skeletal formations, planted stoic, tall, and still;
calm sentinels in somber dress, heralds of the chill
that comes in dead of night, with death’s silent chants.
Amidst the boughs there blows a mistral, howling shrill
cries of boiling blood, to freeze blood’s marrow and bones
as fading suns glow pale upon exposed branch and stone
that lie inert in everlasting sleep upon the hills.
The earth is dying, sleeping in her dark winter’s throne,
succumbing to entombments stupefying license,
whimpering with dry wilted sobs, submitting silence –
held enthralled before the terrifying specter moans.
Bereft of bird and leaf, of means to sing in valence:
naked sleepers sorrowing as vile congregants

(featured image source)