The winter trees stand unclothed,
branches reaching for each other with woody empathy
craving their lovers touch, naked bodies of passion,
their children lie red and amber,
setting ablaze the verdigris blades,
that hold them kindly,
when their mothers can no longer carry them,
the embrace breaks them down,
allowing their earthy scent to creep to the nostrils of those who come to think a while,
enjoying the fleeting sun on their backs for a time,
on this frosty winter day,
The traffic seems obsolete,
if the whispering birds can learn,
to ignore the engine rumbles as can I,
the obsidian asphalt path carves delicately through this city sanctuary,
like an old english dance,
where courters would not touch their partner,
but embrace the sweet proximity,
and cherish the fire in their beloved's eyes,
and soul.
Water lies abandoned in the path,
reflecting the eternal blue of the afternoon sky,
an embodiment of tranquility,
a connection that can never be consummated,
a longing to be together again,
the water envies the whisp of cloud that has retained the skies clinch,
a ripple destroys the perfect portrayal,
but to give way to two Blue ****,
absorbing its love,
and releasing it to one another,
as they speak to each other,
and elope toward the emerging pearl moon.
I brush my feet amongst the wood chip beds,
mere remnants of once great trees,
still huddling together in solidarity,
as though trying to reform what once was,
it makes me ponder of soul mates lost,
clutching at the memories that once were,
and pursuing to reforge a love that refuses to be broken,
adoration manifest as young sapplings reach upward,
sprouting from the shallow chippings,
ready to blossom with memories once more.
