The Trees, Night.

Souls in the tree of life,
their bowls ablaze– 
coppering their old gold.

As day moves to evening,
all warmth leaves the trees.
Red blood in their branches
remains. Heating

her lamps.
Brighter now than ever
for a short time before
sunset, moonrise.

Souls in the tree of life,
their bowls ablaze–
Small and dwindling their flames.

Small birds fly.
Moon waxes gibbous,
its tilted egg almost there,
almost full.

Souls in the tree of life,
their copper bowls are night-warm,
small their flames.

In dead of night, their 
flames flicker, dance.
The stars are trees' tongues,
moving into language.

Her lamps lit,
her diamonds hung.
It is long, long
before dawns' song.

In the bluelit
darklight,
        bluebells thread
into boundary hedges 
        working up,
closed, their flowers.

Light begins round the great Yew,
setting red the comet tail of a spider's
house.

It is hanging by a thread.


© Chris Murray, October 2024.

'The Trees, Night' is an excerpt from a tripartite poem titled 'Found Poem, Spring'. The titled parts of the poem are 'The Trees, Dawn', 'There Are More Blue Flowers in Spring', and 'The Trees, Night'. The poem in its entire can be read at The Honest Ulsterman , with thanks to Editor Gregory McCartney.