a stark field, forged
            with young trees
upon which blackbirds
            settle at the tips,
long-lashedly,
            enticed by night.

Sometime yesterday
            or before, the leaves
flew off in clouds
            of migration, roving
marshward where
            the sun glowers
behind a sky water-
            marked by storms.

The splotchiness
            mimics flounder fish,
sight-side up,
            chameleoned into
microscopic moons,
            sliced from beyond
into leathery frays,
            like feathers
poised for flight
            toward what’s being lost.