Look, did you too see it, swaying, all through the stormy night?
Look, did you see it the next evening, leaning into the harsh wind –
Its leafless fingers reaching out for help,
Its shadows of anger, its rods of night striking the air,
Whispering with the wind like a warning, alarming,
Puncturing the sight with its swords?
Listen, do you hear it, creaking and croaking,
A scream in a silence – like the words left unsaid – a raven’s gurgles cutting through the spaces between branches?
And did you see it, at last, towering over the mossy ground –
A threat, the aroma of woodiness and earth, its sticks
Bare and tugging at you like a newfound nightmare?
And did you feel it, deep inside, how it tugged at everything?
And have you too finally figured out what death is for? And have you lived your life?
