You’ve made yourself cold.
Withdrawing from the warmth of
Autumn, when low October flames
Thaw laughing hands;
Clear December sun kisses the pines.
You’ve sunken into shadows,
Hiding your grains,
Organic veins pulsing across every plane of your
Falsely blackened skin.
You’ve fallen from your roots,
Cut and groomed into your
Uncomfortable, synthetic, almost symmetry.
It makes me squirm to look at you.
You’re consumed by secrets
Veiled in the shadows of your countless crevices,
Shrinking from the sun and the open
Breeze for so many years
You’ve fallen asleep,
How to sway.