image and word

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silent woods
The sky has long since
dropped its tears
and cannot mourn,
the wind does not howl with grief.

Trees no longer
mount green against the elements,
snow has buried the palms
of gaping hands,
and the blood is frozen
that mars the drifts of fallen years.

Our longings are cadavers
in the silent woods
white as snow, fear
in eyes like frost.

Earth is black
beneath the snow
a torso slowly freezing.

– Randy Wilson