Why is it that my arms must bend before they break?
Maybe the winter wind decided that
I needed to be blind-sided with sharp leaves
The snowfall would much rather
Collapse its extra 50 pounds onto my decaying back
Instead

The snap of the wood echoed through
And awoke the sleeping willows

The darkness and the stillness
Did not make it with the sunrise
Wandering ambers of yours
Planted their residues into the core
Of my roots
A fire sparked down my spine
Before the sun set to rosy hues and gradients of light
It engulfed most of what was left
I let it

The snap of the wood echoed through
And awoke the sleeping willows

The remains?
I whispered to the wood
I whispered, “I am here, I am this,
I cannot feel my roots
Nor can I feel my branches
Let your willow leaves fly with open arms”

The snap of the wood echoed through
And the leaves flew past

The harsh winds and leaves only hit
On the coldest days
The scolding snowfall not such a burden
The fire sets when my trunk cannot bear
To hold itself in place

The snap of the wood echoed through
And it is too late to take the remains of destruction
And make it anew