Tree, by Spring.

Leaning on the sky,
strong silhouette delicate as lace;
unclothed branches stretch,
spreading thin traceries, bark on blue..
this winter tree is last to green;
stark beauty fading as budding leaves edge, then hide
each particular quirk of shape,
charmed by wind and light to such unique design.
just days away from leaf;
this quiet bare grace has never seemed
so frail, so fine..
its vanishing unstoppable as time,
reappearance certain as change, as life...
the season turns, always turns, moving on;
going and becoming.