Winter Trees Cough Like Old Men
By Eugenio Montejo
Winter trees cough like old men
about death’s white nightmares
while the rain talks in Latin.
They cough about the sobbing tragic
ash, they bind valises for leaving,
they darken—and in the chill
of frost from the sun, the lungs
bristle to see coffins hidden
in the dry capes of kings.
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