Firwood (Poetry)

Light lasers through the firwood,
greenly splinters,
texturing fresh-lichened twigs to lime velour
and needles drawing sun’s bright tacking thread
glint with borrowed steel
from pre-dawn rain.

Warmth deepens
and must hovers, incense-thick
and cloudy where the stubborn shadows cling
beneath dark boughs.

The upmost branches spread
their sun-soaked canopy,
tier by subtly shifting tier
’til all their shades of green are on display —
a giant living chart where colours splash and drip,
change with the light
then, slowly, bleed away.