These trees are bare, the sun bouncing off their arms like golden thread
The ground is cold
Damp
Puddled with desire for another day
Of warmth, brief passion
Flitting hope

These trees, they know how things move
Change
Risk faith, risk the desert of each year’s bounty
These trees they gnarl softly
Wisely, under an easter sky

These trees of life
Yet not alive
Yet so brave
Patient as an eclipsed moon in the black soft dark of a dreamless night

They smile inside, these trees
They converse
They say they know how it is
How warmth can be mistaken for affection, how another day is tomorrow’s secret –
the promise of a greater, brighter life
How foolish it is to hollow out to the hail
More foolish to bow to wind

Strong trees they are,
Just what I need outside my window

March 11, 2005 Reykjavik