and then again, I am the same tree on the same hill
look you have seen it

here,

your eyes close

shutting feathers down of egrets
lounging in morning fog

tall nudging of estuaries
of reeds, foxglove-purple glens

here,

your eyes are closed

the white is peeking in from the edges
soft memory

plump and poultice

the egrets blush a ruffled wing
unsetting setting dust

the yellow fog claved the fold

martyred the morning
before it began