The Birches

The birches are shaking again from the blue silence on its leaves and dark as shadows in leafy arms soak up the evening. Tousled with happiness, those branches inked they shake as if in flight and bold as the birds, they weave nests for the wind and the autumn darkness. That the sun, the proud, shining like white mercury Fishy silence and people in a hurry they don't see the beauty and their good eyes. And in the evening they shake off from the blue silence on its leaves and awake as the shadows, and my blue dreams merge into the evening.