Solstice Dance: Trees
Old strippers
careworn and patched
protesting mildly
at the cold
slip off one
brittle scrap at a time.
Slow but easy
with practice,
they bare limbs
well-worn
stroked by
slender fingers
into a wild frenzy --
heat burns away
in the rattling dance
of bones nearly naked
and nearly dead,
they settle groaning
into cloaks of brilliant
silence to sleep
murmuring to themselves
songs of wanton rhythm,
waiting for the spotlight
to come again.