Waiting For Sunday

dcThis gnarled branch
Stretches up high
Like a child on tiptoe
Wanting to be seen
Face turned to the sun
This wood upon wood
Boundless in complexity
Striated by time

Two crows sit sentinel
Talons curled underneath
Heavy as a church
Waiting for Sunday
A rustling in the leaves
Testament to life
Shut up in its bones
Crying to be free

As shadows rain down
Formless in the void
A sound rings out
Splitting the distance
Scattering the birds
Like so much despair
Then wood upon wood
Cracks into pieces

Littering the forest floor.