Snowy flowers
Clutching
To thick vines
That drip, drip, drip
From silver branches
Twisting
Around smooth trunks
Brandishing
Thorns
Tips dyed blue
By some strange
Blood
Or rare
Berry
Sometimes
A bird
Tired from journey
Will rest
On the ropes
Bed there
For a night
And then
Find a trust
For the twists
And never
Flight
Again
And so
These vines
Become a cage
As the creatures
Waste
Unaware
And sing praises
Until their beaks
Will rise
No
More
Sometimes
I try to warn them
But who
Would listen
To such a young girl
With her long, black
Hair
And eyes
Blues once
And gray then
Shifting
In the light and attitude
So that
Though I tell
Only truths
The birds are already
Captors of the vine
Singing
From future cages
Wasting
Away
Unnoticed
Except for me
Giving
Everything for
Snowy flowers
