Shines weak insights onto
Still-bare branches of the
Linden tree.
In the glance at
Newness, I see some limbs
Are stripped bare of bark.
It had to be
More than the hard winter;
Rather life reveals itself
In unexpected ways:
Who knew the near-bone
White of the old tree's
Branches
Could be less death,
And really
Not even life,
But just the quiet, waiting prompt
To notice,
No assumptions, save that
Life is brief.
And so it is that you notice. You bear tender witness.
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