Bare tree

In the bare limbs of a tree

there is certain irrefutable
[and deceptive] clarity ―

the eye piercing the stark
crisp-clear scenery

supposedly defeating blindness
believing in seizing the s/tree/t view

in its entirety ― free
of the exuberant burst of spring
lush blossoms, birds and bees
the idle chatter of summer leaves
eager butterfly wings
ripeness that swell
bejewelling the branches in gold,
soon to be stripped down
by the first frost, vanish in a blast
of a sudden winter squall, as if
nothing . ever . existed ―
if not for this inseparable
frame-sequence along the blue 

string of seasons ―
[incessant ancient love]
by which we live

upside-down s/tree/t (2)