Marks in the Bark

In my backyard sits a lonely tree.
Twisted by times great claws that leave
Marks in the bark.


The tree sits lifeless in the middle
Of my garden.
Contrast of Light
Contrast of Dark.
Contrast of Life
Contrast of Death.
Light, dark, life, death swimming in
The flamboyantly baroque birdbath
Under the lonely tree.


Gray-brown, green bone,
Marks in the bark.
One branch stands alone,
Marks in the bark.


And through the misty white and satin
I distinguish,
I judge,
I articulate,
The forms that breathe form
From the wispy clay.


And what does it all amount to?
Life, climax, ecstasy and decay.
Marks in the bark,
They’re all marks in the bark of the gray
Brown tree in father times backyard.