The Withering Trees Quiver Silently... Poem by Abby Koning

the withering trees quiver silently
a handless salute to the passersby
acknowledging their presence with the creaking
of an ungloved branch

an omniscient evening twists the clock
until the two hands are clasped and pointing
to someplace beyond time
(their soft moist touch leaves imprints on the crystal)

somewhere a moon hangs in a cradle
suspended above a gossamer field
yet the cows, complaining throatily
do not feel the weight of his gaze

the man in the moon has turned his back upon mankind
and who could blame him
(he who is without sin, cast the first stone…
boulders are stacked to the heavens)

and you and i and i and you
stroll impertinently through the shadows
ordering them to part with a touch of our lips

…and the wind tosses my hair about
as the man in the moon
sneaking a peak over his shoulder
laughs at my disarray

you tuck it back in its place with a gentle hand
and so we venture on
the shadows blushing at this unfamiliar display of affection

a coyote pours out its anguished racket
the hairs bristles on our arms
each individual strand pulling away from the other
isolating themselves to shiver and squirm
in solitude

and i wonder at the foolishness
for who would care to face this night alone?