Bark

In the distance,

a cascade of Spanish moss

melts into the rippling

shade of a live oak tree

as nightshade saws through

the rusty curtain of sky.

The barbed wire

of the cicadas’ song

chokes the thick neck

of  wind stomping

across river banks.

Howls of hounds barrel

down the mountains’ sweat-

slicked backs with the haste

of thunder’s whip.

Here, a flash of white

will make way for a clearing

in the woods. A clearing

in the woods will make way

for a plantation

of trees. A plantation

of trees will make way

for a murder of crows.

This is how a forest becomes

a gathering of  brown limbs

stretching north.