Bäume im Nebel

Like a crow clutching at
clouds of smoke,

the beech’s bare,
black fingersrake the gray.

Skeletal digits swathed in pillowy fog
sift out shadows,

as if straining for some last morsel of night
before the breaking day.

Arthritic twigs relax and then like some spidery childs
troking her grandmother’s gossamer hair,

long strands of sunlight appear;
rays running through their branching palms

and up
into the air.