Thin, gnarled fingers flung heavenwards,
Sharply silhouetted against a somber sky,
Obsequious or saintly?
Yellowing leaves contrast starkly against black limbs
Heralding the imminent fall
From grace to shameful nakedness.
With ice-cracked arms,
And shuddering sighs,
Tuck in upon yourself for the long, bitter winter.
Everything must die to be reborn.
(October 26, 2008)