I am a willow conjoined
with tawny thorns and sap fastened
sad leaves like blood droplets
in neurosis-transmitter streets.
I will be the ashes of bark
that mingle with burnt soil hoping
for dissipated visages to reignite my former being into more than just an image,
[once the potentiality of embryonic seeds beleaguer
my tree-trunk-brain I become despondent and relent, and yet it is too late].
The tiniest sounds become frightening.
The winds knock limbs loose.
The ground consumes.
The light loses its soothing touch.