Some see a bloom
under emerald crowns,
in shaded gloom.

I see You.

The Maples, five daint petals
warding their siblings
and birds perching broad shoulders,
some soft thing.

They don't know...

Thorns rest on your resolve,
a wrinkled body moss keeps
where the snow and fast rain
and the sun-ray sleeps.

They don't know...

You are pedestal,
grounded,
among dogwood and thistle,
a gem:
not simply one of them.

Men, past loves in passing,
and a white corsage to pin.
They rest themselves on you.
What a sin.

They don't know...

What takes no eye to know:
you're sky for the Night Star,
your bark is beautiful.

No! They don't know...

It’s moot.
Some see soft shoots.
Some,
cut flowers for roots.

But I see bark-
the beautiful dark.

I see You.