a spruce, knurled in a gradual spiral, handmade candy

its evergreen painted on, clouding it, to coalesce

stone trunk, an inverted fluted column, its whiteness coming through the gray against the dark greens, the greens selecting whiteness

bright cigarette tip, neat bearded face, half rolled down window, passing car

as the sky brightens the squirrels appear in silhouette within the double willow oak

i should not be ashamed to be so literal

i should not be ashamed to be anything, if i'm anything

clouds head east but its hard to see their churn and roil from below

lamplit windows like butter for another maybe 15 minutes

four of the same rectangle, stacked to make the same rectangle

for a little bit i forgot all the feelings and just saw

bird tumbled like a leaf

old house sags around its chimneys

i wish i could see a tree growing and not in that time-lapse photography way

enough morning light now to banish silhouette, i see the squirrels' grayness and postures

the old man's mossy roof