Ghost Trees at Midnight

(nine years after the Bear Butte burn)

Ginger Dehlinger

Black-skinned bones
these spectral spires
shrouded in moon dust
arms akimbo
reach for the sky.

Like zombies
they prefer the dead of night
company of spirits
mask of darkness
cool, bleak silence.

Dead or half-dead
missing limbs
stripped of bark
feet planted
they refuse to topple.

A legion of ghouls
kissed by the devil
scarred
numb to the core
magnificent in moonlight.