Sapped

There are words, those
heard when the trees stand bare
and open to elements,
Words for the dark and daring
and the roots.
Heard from the heard of pedestrians
as they stumble in streets,
muttered, bitten off
by the fall.
The trees keep their bark closer
as the light fails all over the planet:
the sap’s stopped.
Brittle to the touch, grey
to the eye, with splashes of tom-
tit sharp tweet,
The branches branch out unforgiving
The timeless soggy sky
One last rain.
Elements gather and dance
a two-step in the yellowing grass
Open to rot.
Brown memories soak
Unheard into hearts,
Bare, daring to stand.

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