I watch the Moontree bloom in the meadow.

A hybrid of black oak and gray maple

entwined at the root, bark, leaf and branch.

It's silven flowerheads whispering to me golden lies.

You somehow grow on a ****** white sands

that bares no fruit nor olive nor stream

And yet you grow and grow and grow and grow

to reach the azuline veil above.

And yet in this cold night, you give me comfort

for all the time past and the years to come.