The Names of Trees Smoke curled skyward as trees forgot their names, oak leaf and maple leaf first desiccated, robbed of moisture, and then incinerated in a no-disco inferno, they curled and fell. They forgot their names, just as my father on his invalid bed, forgot my name, and then his own before the coma took him to fly like an eagle, as promised by Isaiah. This morning the sun burned through the cellophane red maple leaves behind the house. Thin as my elderly father’s skin, they gave the light an appearance of Christmastide.
This piece evokes feelings of nature, and its cycles. Thank you.
Glad you liked it.