Untitled 2

Today my teeth are oversized grains of sand.
Socketed tightly,
A mirror of occasionally metal capped mountains
A face now unsightly.
Today my limbs have lost all their last leaves.
No longer swaying,
My boughs, broken, hang limp at my sides.
My young trunk is graying.
Today, the people are black gobs through grey glass.
Will I feel them shuffling?
Tears from their eyes water breast pocket flowers.
Their heavy shoes puddling.


Don’t they know?
Don’t bother with the water
The flowers are already dead.