the very distinctly
humbling-
yet-laudatory
significance of a
sunny day in January:
the same lone, ebullient,
and protuberant hulk
of a tree
that once caught
and contoured the briskest
summer breezes
and shaded me
so masterfully—
now looking heavy
and old
and careworn,
and frozen to its
chosen spot—
but also,
the very same hale,
stubborn paragon
whose huge afternoon shadow
I can stand right
inside of
while its incommunicable soul
subsumes to sooth
my own.
