The Softness It Wears

On an island of mulch in

A concrete sea, 

A tree waves

In the wind—gentle, 

Like linen

Drying on a line, it is dressed

In white petals; 

Branches peeking

Through the softness 

It wears.

Surrounded by what is 


And empty, the tree does not

Know emptiness—

Even when its

Limbs are draped 

in snow

Rather than 

The pillowy flowers

It may love more.