Bare Winter Trees

The Findells


Everything’s wrong

Everything’s wrong

He moved like a man with a bridge on fire

He was monochromatic

Blue shadows and dirt

She was hoping for Technicolor

Palm trees and sunlight


Bare winter trees

A fallow field

An occasional breeze


It was nothing he thought about

Not anything he planned

It came about one drink at a time

She considered every angle

Kept her money in a jar

Always looking for an open door


A cloud in the distance

An empty highway

One drop of rain

An enormous silence

She looked down at her ring

A murmur of starlings passing by

A handle of whiskey

An ill-chosen word

Then the wind and rain was all they heard


Everything’s wrong

Everything’s wrong