>We Both Know
It is the storm's forgetting in silence I fear.
We both know how the rain can
hit concrete and turn to ice
We both know how gathering clouds and disbursing clouds
will change a person's visage; pale thin light
does something to a person's skin, to their eyes.
We know how wind focused through the canyon of buildings
causes people to hunker in on themselves,
bunker arms tight around their layers
to protect, not allow frigid air to get a fingers grip.
We know a winter can last a long time;
the quieted pause giving us a chance to step outside
and survey what damage was wrought.
But we also know how a stripped tree glows
when the sunlight finally wins.
Even in a city of blacktop, storied buildings and commercial lights,
with thin pale light refracted by the crystalline layers and magnified,
a naked tree requires sunglasses for viewing,
its shape a single typed character against a stark white page,
a shock in the middle of blankness, an awakening,
It's limbs remembering to reach out, remembering its structure
Even in the city, a stripped tree is a thing to admire.
Dec 30 2012