Weeping of Trees

A Weeping of Trees

Today the wickers were used
for the first time since October
entered on a little skiff of snow,
dignity bruised.

I realized no matter how well
his eyes match the blue in the
carpet, life will never be the same.

I look to the garden,
wonder if I was to
push him under the tallest willow
as the clouds hang pregnant with offspring,
would he shout out my name
in thanks or in loathing?

Bobbie Gogain