Trees
Frilly blossoms brief as breath;
each sun a passing trend.
The cycle of days takes cold into our bones.
Battering rains and floods of tears
Soak our skin and bring us years
of rooting, sprouting, shading and shedding,
arms stretched out, never forgetting
to drink the sun, to amaze the moon.
It’s impossible to begin again,
So we grow from here,
folding wrinkles into expressions of time.
