The trees stand dark and solitary, packed tightly together.
Like bloody bodies in a heap, while loved ones greave.
Wind makes them talk, bending their limbs and forcing them to whisper.
Whisper about lost lovers and faraway places, out of reach.
Whisper about the secrets of the night.
All is silent when the wind isn’t interrogating, all is almost calm.
Everything stands tensely still, waiting
Waiting for a noise to free them from their stiff bodies
To bring them to life.
To be stripped of their rough bark and freed.
Freed from the bonds of eternal
Watching, eternal waiting
Eternal wondering