What do these beast like trees know of me
I stare at them like they are veins transporting
The blood of earth back up to god, their naked flesh
Lingering through winter. Don’t we all
Become this? Don’t we all, at times,
Have to strip off our costumes to
To stand naked in the cold, let the sky
Dress us in white like a bride to be
Betrothed to the self we left at the foot
Of the tree as we climbed so high we
Could do nothing but fall? Aren’t we all
Just waiting for spring to punch through
Buds to cast a new bloom spilling color?