Sunlight hangs from branches,
Cedar and Maple,
Just before the sun sets.
New buds decorate the tips
In red hues,
While some trees stand like smoke
Frozen into icicles and
Stiff as boney fingers
Clutching the last
Breath from the throat of winter.
And time moves on.
Blue-black sky is the backdrop
Of silhouettes darkening
Ever more,
As the sun has slidden
Beyond the horizon.
Beings are moving in the dark,
Ghosts nibbling at the cedars,
And the robins and jays have gone to bed.


©April 17, 2025
Diane E. Dockum