You stand alone, you

pine tree on rocky mountainside.

You hands of needles, you

eyes of resin, sweet mouth evergreen

to the touch. You half stretching

towards – nothing – you

stinging smell of snow, you ever scratching

ever crystallized

spring. You circular hours falling

like rain on steep, barren days.

You moving blindly to unknown perfumed melodies

for a day – amber flowing on your cheeks

from your eyes, a flower

blossoming on your green lips

for a moment.