every season
of a tree
has a beauty all it's own

spring sprouts - blush of first love
summer lush greenery - the fullness of love
fall explosion of color - love burning itself out

but it is
this tree - winter tree - witch tree
that speaks to me most

your branches
spindly fingers
clearly reach
for your lover the sun

this tree - winter tree - witch tree

every cell
strains upward
wanting to be one
with the sun

this tree - winter tree - witch tree

raw skeleton exposed
loves first bloom long gone
longing for
your lover's touch

this tree - winter tree - witch tree

do you know
that your lover's skin
will set you both aflame
until her desire is quenched
and you are left
but ash and bone
do you care?

this tree - winter tree - witch tree

reaching ever upward
towards your love
wanting what you want
regardless the consequences

Ancient forests
started on October 9th, 2020
revised on November 30th, 2020

Translation of a Chinese poem by **** Wei:
"I know no good way
to live and I can't
stop getting lost in my
thoughts, my ancient forests."

I think getting lost
in ancient forests
sounds lovely.

I get lost in my head
in old familiar battlefields
and imagined future apocalypses.

But an ancient forest
with cool, shaded layers of trees
doesn't sound so bad

I guess it is the lost part
that is the problem.
Maybe the ancient forests
wouldn't be so bad
if the poet knew where he was.

Feet touching the earth
anchoring this self
to this exact spot
the soul a beacon
to the world's gps system.

I am here.

I am not lost.

I am.

Lily magnolia
written November 29th, 2020

I walked by you this summer
dressed in all your green finery.
If I thought anything
it was, "what a nice little tree."
I am sorry to say
I did not look close enough
to form much of an impression.

Now fall has come
you have shivered most of your leaves off
a few hold on tenaciously
trying in vain to cover your virtues.

I look at you and am I ever surprised!
Your branches are craggy and twisted
displaying the lovely complexity of advanced age
result of many exposures to the storms of life.

The tips of your branches
hold fuzzy little nubs
that remind me of ***** willows.
I stand near and marvel
at the aching tenderness of your womanhood
kept hidden until now
under your leafy raiment.

I look but I do not touch
I have not asked permission
and I will not.
I hope the world
continues to pass you by
leaving you unmolested.
It is not easy to be so revealed.

I look forward
to seeing you next summer
all dressed up again.
I will smile and nod
as I pass by
knowing what your verdant covering
hides beneath it.