December 6th, 2010


poem-thing by me: passersby

Empty branches
are briefly filled,
a hundred birds
alighting like some
thousand new-born
leaves with feathers,
wings, and noisy

Moments later,
they startle, fly,
and are all gone.

Bereft, the tree
stands in naked
humility and
does not ask why,
or wonder when
its visitors will
someday return.