The trees

tingle,

then shiver

at the

winds

touch

soft

and full

of breath.

And the leaves

trickle

sweetly

Clinging to kin

Brothers and sisters,

fevered in yellows

and oranges

staining

fragile skin

Soon,

they rest

at mother's feet

resting in humble

defeat

Tiny skeletons

torn lifeless

to shrunken spines

A picture,

lovely

and

frozen

at one's heed

Gripped

in

metal

memory

But long gone

are these

gentle

leaves

Second children

to a trees

fertile

seeds

Souls

which do not ascend

crumbling

at mother's toes

Still they lay

against their kin

now collapsed

within their

skin

Sprinkled over

rocks and stones

But too

do they shape

another mother

From which their

mother grown

Upon her

belly

they inter

other souls

Deaths

of flesh and bone

and wooden

viens

From them grows

their mother's soul.