This tree who works as hard

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This tree who works as hard
must envy birds :colors
that weigh almost nothing

as you too once—these leaves
swept back even on the ground
aimless, cold, dry, apart.

I feed only the birds now
filling baths, seeds
that will never grow and wings

crumpled from exhaustion—each Fall
a soft fluttering :useless sparks
slowly and from some well

from where they belong :the dead
still thirsty, on fire
—what did you carry?

On all sides the headwind
—some artery broken apart :these leaves
flowing to some sea

—what did you lift
that my arms can't catch fire
are held so close, covered with wood.