The trees
are weeping fat drops drip
from the leaves plop soundless in the mist
that deadens the footfall the face veiled weeping
birdsong madsong
shriek of mourning women
hair loose hanging from the wet branches their nails
tear their faces the cracked bark where the nuthatch
is searching
here? where? in here? o where?
and the woodpecker laughs there over there
and claps and he’s off to leave the twigs trembling
grappling
the air scrabbling in freefall stooping
to search the smoking wreckage for the smashed
body brother’s bones in the ground lodged among
roots that
clutch them hold fast to which they are
rooted locked and lost ghosts in the misty air
searching frozen weeping silent