The bare woods

the year sighs
the trees strip
the darkness grows
the clock ticks
and the veil runs thin
through the bare woods

where each step echoes
in sloshing crackle leaves
and shattered twigs
in dusk of the twilight
of the year the light wanes
and winds roar
and bodies ache and
creak just as their
naked counterparts
swaying in the bare woods

retreats the light and
the life that burned bright
just weeks before
of vivid hues that drip
off limb and bough to
puddle on the faded grass
the skin wears thin
for those in the bare woods

faces gray and ashen lay
among silken strands
and broken hands who
held the heat and day
creeps the cold on spider
legs to spin the web and
bound its prey in stiffness
pain, in frozen rain that clings
to flesh in the bare woods