Plot Visit

Where are you now, life’s rustling energies?
Frills to one’s skeleton, or sketch: bereft
The tree looms truer. Some rash flurry’s theft
Or autumn’s grudgeless rape? Grim reaper, breeze?

Its nest long empty, of extinguished fire
Mute beacon to the end, it stays a dark
Enduring signal, naked to the bark
Devoid of banter – strong with new desire.

Upright I stand, on my own plot, brought flower
To future use, all morbid egotism
Unburdened maple, waiting, lonely, power
An image of myself... a narcissism.

No symbol ever tells one’s hour or place
Yet I must recognize a mirrored face.

November 10, 2025