But I know what I like
I’m sorry I ignored you.
Day after day since winter
I have cut you twice dead:
leaving and arriving home.
You kept
a dignified silence
even as the snows
crowned you with whispers.
In the warmer weather
I have shed my layers
just as you have started
to re-clothe.
And now you stand
commanding my attention;
solid and handsome,
sassy and proud.
I watched your leaves unfurl
like open palms
ready to applaud the sky
and demand an encore.
You took chartreuse and
rusted mahogany, let
each pollinate the other
the way artists never would.
Critics would not rate you
or debate you
but you are
objet d’art
to me.
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