by the talking tree

down by the talking tree
the black sinews
throw words like wisps of smoke
placid and placating
conjure your real name
out of discarded garbage
plastic bottles and styrofoam cups

play for awhile
by yourself
in the woods by the creek
watch the slowness of snowflakes,
falling
catching you unaware
with each untainted blast of white blot
on the blue of the sky
on the surrounding dead branches and brambles
ending on the ground
as anonymous as any vulnerable soul
wandering these three worlds
lost to find themselves
lost