It’s evening

For the bleak heart of winter

Floodwaters recede

Before the flourish of green  

~

So gently it falls

In violet embers

Trees lined against the western sky

For its hushed

Infernal demise

~

Sullen trees will branch higher

Reclaiming their fallen

Given new royal colors

By a warm, tender breeze

~

As I watch still afflicted

By the swift hands of death

By every root torn away

From November’s hard ground