Ash
Outside the window sprawled an ash
with splayed and scalloped leaves in pose.
Each veined and blotchy web was stuck
to misted panes as swirling winds repelled
the rush of rust across the open view.
The heavy trees were bowed with naked bones.
Translucent leaves revealed their tiny veins
like spider webs that riddled through each leaf.
No pulse of sap now streams the cindered flesh
nor crimson tones that once enlivened growth
but stretched and tightly taut like brittle skin.
An open window played a plaintive tune
as grainy gnats then groaned on empty air
and gathering the summer's dying gasp
the wind expelled a final rasping note.
But birds no longer sang on frozen limbs
nor flocked towards the warmth of foreign shores.
You lay in vigil as soft currents moved.
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