early morning, Battery Park: a winter memory (for Lan)

how patient are the trees
in their wintry imprisonment
how still they are   how resolute
how silent even under the buffetings
of the wind   arch-inquisitor
no complaints do they voice nor do they curse
no vegetal sound do they make
but they raise their rangy limbs
in their winter confinement
hidden there in the roots grow
myths of springtime   images
of buds yet unseen   phantom spheres of fruit
the magical essence of life itself
what agony they’ll undergo
when the sun sets about rising
naked from the waters of night
moans and sighs I hear but not
from the trees quaking    they’re from me
as now I think of you naked perfect
you waken alone in the dawn
cold I am here but you are there
my sun rising up from a sea of dreams

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2014

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