Early, Not Yet At Work

Slight-limbed tree, winter
tangle of twigs, branches none
thicker than my thumb. Outside my
window the taut
arbor twitches, is struck.
I stand, look out,
see the squirrel who’d jumped
and now hurries down the trunk
toward the cold ground.

Cruel anger, subsequent remorse
Flowers that grow in lightless
Monochrome and die
When touched by you and I

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