in old limbs we live
children raised on small sorrows
creak of smiles fools no one
only what changeling love we give
from frenzied desperation borrowed

our tree of years!
of three or nine it blooms
pale bruise among wintry brambles
now the whispered eclipse nears
embalming me for summer tombs

only in ice have we burned
thawing seasons of mistakes
quickly we are sodden with shame
swept past what we have earned
wondering again when tree will wake

11/13/2006

Author's Note: how could this be ruined before it even began?

Posted on 11/13/2006
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