Lone Tree Rages

From some forgotten cache,
bur oak, scrawny, stunted
humble and tawny, high
on the red sheer palisade,
twists the moon into shards
and shattered pearl.

From some forgotten cache,
a bur oak, scrawny, stunted
humble and tawny, high
on the red sheer palisade,
twists the moon into shards
and shattered pearl.

Raked by the ever wind,
a bur oak –
cleaved into cloven rock
abhors this fisted moon –
its waning wandering wax –
such mockery of clinging.

Sprung from some forgotten cache,
a bur oak rails against it’s own
stripped rippling arms,
as if to proclaim and rightly:
I, alone upon this rock,
hold the blackest gray squirrel –
that hoarding, heaving vermin –
to account on this crooked,
blighted night.

Image: Tamar Waskey on Unsplash

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