Blue blood tree.

The blue blood tree the gale couldn’t fell they 

tinted in oxide red on the way home 

the art that ran hypocrital thumbs 

that run along the dusted slate mantel 

as magpies tap out nightly morse 

reminders to hades of decades that spotlights 

spent above honeycombed houses sweeping 

The doors for the twinkle picking keys 

where barn owls might roost 

To hide masks of the golden language 

Saved for scribing a spook.