Underneath a willowtree
twists your summerbeard
with your winterbeard
entwined

You think your greenthoughts
of gnarl, leg, branch, and twig
of foretime kisses under moonlight
of nowtime creakings under foglight

You grasp with groaning fingers 
after a moth in flight
and catching him
lick the dust from his wings

You crunch with rotten legs
through leaves in swirl 
and crushing them
soak sunlight from their blood

Underneath your willowtree
your bark whitens 
and in breathing out
unwinds