Gray Smith

Heaviest of all silences now falls with these weightless flakes,
Muffling all sound, from sources disembodied, unseen, unheard
Apparitions, nothing human remains within this falling
Misty wall of whiteness. Ghosts become the trees which still hold leaves,
Most golden, some green, alive against retreating sap within,
Life bearers, breathing now lost, under cold cover that would freeze
Blood, and make bones brittle, unable to brace against the wind.

Before the freeze, a leaden wetness of these flakes brings bending
To each branch, great weight to bear in silence, sinews stretched beyond
Capacity, deformed buried shapes, their strength and structure lost,
No sibilant hiss of wind to shake them back to size and breath.
Just heaviest of all silences. Then begins an echo
Through the woods, of snapping pops and popping snaps, slowly ripping
Tears, groans and crashing thuds, cracks, breaks, and whooshing air borne branches,
While one by one in silent separation weightless flakes fall.