Old tree, you are ever before me.
Have been.
In terror and waiting
and want,
I have memorized your
silhouette's visage
before me;
trunk and daughter limbs
reaching far above
the noise of formless
branch-snappers
that make their way
around my presence,
reaching for
the cooling stars while your
outer branches thin
and
fall and curve
earthward,
near a supposed fire.
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