Last night's frantic branches now nestle,
long shorn of hair,
dignified in recovery.
Resolute, versatile, vertical,
forming your bead curtain
to a turquoise glass horizon:
showcase of blighted blackbirds,
occasional burgeoning aviation,
free to fly this side of heaven.
Still, cradling in your fingers,
oversized, precarious twists of twigs,
last season's leftovers,
soon to be
recharged with dawn song shelter.
You are a year's experience.
Emit us your order
as you stand and
curse our chaos.
Teach us dancing
when the storm comes.
Have a heart for the homeless.
You wait to blossom in the sun;
you rest while others run.