17 Jan 2006

Sycamore on Sycamore

Foreign body
Outside the window
Dead centre
Of the white frame.

Green flames lick the iron-fisted wind,
Severe life, at times serene
In silence
Yet stiffly calling all the same.

Youngest of large beings
From earth to sky
Angel, miracle,
On veined wings

Or evil, alien root
From 'another land'