stripped of all pretense,
simplicity giving way to strange beauty.
Alone, yet koinoniaed
Violence, yet concord
No form to desire this ugly tree
the satisfaction of misplacement.
Its white crooked limbs stretch laboriously upward,
A germ so long ago planted
out of season, yet for a time.
Once being about a business
Now being about a business … aching
forlorn and isolated,
rootedness in desiccated ground … and waiting …
Will it spring again?
© Jason Goroncy, 3 March 2006. (NB. The first stanza of this poem is a reworked version of an awesome piece at http://trinitarianlife.blogspot.com/).