Ghosts Of Aspen

white, a thousand small moons yellow eyes pear where old branches left we are standing like a memory that hasn’t decided wind arrives and the leaves remember how to tremble a soft applause for nothing in particular just being here gold was a rumour once now it drips from every limb a fire that refuses to smoke roots passing messages the way ghosts pass through doors trees are many until autumn tells the truth listen names you forgot loosen from your jaw winter will dress them bone-white choirs with no need of sound just patience, just sky I walk between their narrow shoulders and feel my edges blur some families are chosen some are underground holding you up whether you ask or not the grove nods a treaty with the living tremble and be forgiven stand and be seen