The trees stand in cold repose,
weathering winter's irrational moods.
Most of them have grown, and lost, branches low down along their trunks
branches borne in the springtime
in the bright light and perfume of arboreal ardor.
But now scars in the shape of watchful eyes have taken their place,
and the newest branches grow higher and stronger,
with their fibers intertwined more deeply with the pith of the stem.
The tree behind my dwelling stands a little apart
no scars, but the first branch, the lonely branch,
grows higher along the trunk.
Let us hope it stands strong in the breezes of contemplative summers.