I would
write
poetree,
plain black
lines scrawled
against the azure sky.
season,
poetree need not
have a reason to
be other than
its vital urging to
stand tall
and call all to see
its full breathtaking
shape.
No paper wasted
(ah, trees saved)
Nor ink.
I think today
I am
satisfied that
I saw this sprawling bit
of God's beauty
and I knew enough
to bow down to it, and
be done speaking.
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