Bridal ghosts of cherry trees
welcome me home:
still, mute, white omens in thick night,
their laced branches held out
like an offering – a glimmer of serenity,
a brittle bridge leading me back
into a tunnel of trees that stretch eternally:
copper beaches, burning at sunset,
yews that darkly cover over graves,
a lilac opened up, at the border
of childhood, birch trees shedding
their soft skin, exposing their souls.
Rachel Carney is a book blogger at www.createdtoread.com and has had poems published in The High Window Journal, The Open Mouse and Sarasvati Magazine. She also writes articles and reviews for various magazines and websites.