bare

dark skies, damp trees
stripped of leaves
without a blanket of snow
naked and wounded
broken knarled fingers, desperately reaching
standing wet, grey and black
against the still dark charcoal sky
distant lightning, thunder and those
close, still. glowing skies
why do the trees seem so sad at these times?
this evening, as the sun was dropping
they seemed vulnerable like a woman in a torn dress
with ripped stockings
having to stand before a crowd