716. FIR TREES AND WIND

FIR TREES AND WIND
A dark crutch of doubt holds nothing up -
the flavored shadings of indecision, well,
they too taste like nothing at all -
acidic bile, biting the tongue.
-
I am watching fir trees bend in the wind.
They seem to do it so well, plus they
have found the perfect sound by
which to do it - a gentle swoosh
of an almost white noise, a
sound that never wavers,
always sounds the same.
-
Certain far fields, it seem, never
have a farmer - nothing to sew
so nothing to reap. We go as we
come (a white noise, always the
same) - dense heavy coat, hands
and head protected from the cold,
some scarf around the mouth and
neck, to filter the cold air in.
-
Candles, like this, go out.