Bark
In the distance,
a cascade of Spanish moss
melts into the rippling
shade of a live oak tree
as nightshade saws through
the rusty curtain of sky.
The barbed wire
of the cicadas’ song
chokes the thick neck
of wind stomping
across river banks.
Howls of hounds barrel
down the mountains’ sweat-
slicked backs with the haste
of thunder’s whip.
Here, a flash of white
will make way for a clearing
in the woods. A clearing
in the woods will make way
for a plantation
of trees. A plantation
of trees will make way
for a murder of crows.
This is how a forest becomes
a gathering of brown limbs
stretching north.
