ode to you, tree

I've seen you bare 3 seasons, a trio of winters. I have seen you bloom again in that skylight window at the Einstein Brother's Bagels. Full, and at once proud and humble concerning your fullness. Your crown of sky, blue, grey, or mottled white, never fails you, serving as a stage for your eminence.
I have written poems to you, several through the years, you crept toward the upper pane of the window that frames you. From a world of phantom imagination and shapeless form comes the song that gives rise to your being.

I was Pu Yi

1 -- 1912
trouble boy, ruler ruined
last emperor of China
hurled a mouse at wooden gates
feeling that he was that mouse
a pet, a toy for display
he found out that day
in his Forbidden City
that he was nothing

2 -- 1983
we entered through the tall arch
a picture of Chairman Mao
ushered us in
the City, stone sculptures, red flags
concrete pathways
was she with me then
when I was here
the first time?

3 -- late 19th century
I am a drug-lord in Mongolia
before Pu-Yi's time
we sit around a large rug
in an opium den
colleagues, fiends
I am betrayed, stabbed
in the back with a dirk
by my closest servant

4 -- now
we are reflections
in the pond of Being
of all we have been
yet something more
an evolution
propelled by earnestness

the impetuous boy emperor
lives on in me, the feckless drug lord
as well as his flunkie
with his curt spear
betrayer, betrayed
savior, saved

serious ritual

bare feet on linoleum
cold to the touch, warm to the heart
a sticky spot where dinner abandoned ship
resolute steps to the refrigerator
the open, the peruse, the shut
nothing here to see, move it along