Looking to tell a story in which you’re already in
Spinning with clouds foreshadowing downpour
All in the while the sky is fire red

Resting on steps of paved metaphors

Searching for magic or the ghost of,
As words drift in the breeze,
The crowd unimportant, secondary sounds too

“But we recycle our lines and dig through the plot.”

“—Swallow someone else’s lies.”

My own thoughts interrupted

“I stand here unnoticed appearing dull and lifeless...blush when I’m green, brittle without leaves—but I am more than what I appear to be.”

“A resting place for wings and twigs ...I’m rooted, but every prime of spring, I fly.”

“Wind and rain are friends, although seasonal deaths, snow says hello, and through the freeze it pleases.”

“I represent life and death, just as you do.”

—so what’s the point?

“That’s your story.”

City tree