Hello Darling, My Sorrow's Finest Spring Season Around the Corner of Winter

hollow oak
desperate malfunctioning branches
cloak the gray winter clouds.
not really

the winter air hangs a dead still in lieu of the leaves.
that's fine, the sooner the snow coats
the dirt floor the better.

it'll be like a blanket,
knit from the condensation of angels and gods.

supervisors of this natural phenomena,
i see a wicked gray cloud,
letting a warm beam of light lay shadows

where above them dance the dead oak
in the breeze.