Longer than we could safely
stand at the window,
rain and hail razed our lot
and midway through--
the willow's limbs,
some the circumference
of telephone poles,
had jackknifed over the fence.
Half a tree--
one side wistful,
the other serrated stumps,
still had presence.
The side near the gate,
a resurgence of sinewy vines,
interlaced, dipping
their extended ends
over the rigor mortis.
A foil now for the scratching
feet of squirrels and birds,
their chittering and calling
unbound in a forum
without benefit
of shadow or
reflected light.
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