February Trees.(Revised).

Plane trees in the mist.
Filigree patterns of axons;
Of fine capillaries.
Veins reaching up through the winter sky
Under the skin of mist,
Skin transparent like the skin on my hand,
My pale old hand
Holding this plastic pen while I write,
Note down before the early sun climbs high,
The beauty of this moment.

The words I write down to describe this moment
Spread across the page like knotted veins,
Veins of thought on paper made from wood pulp
Processed from managed forests.
(I myself could not cut down a tree
Unless I planned to replace it with another).

I reach up my hand to touch a leafless branch.
I find a single bud breaking through
The thick rind of the bark.
When summer comes the verdant leaves shall cover
These dark veins spreading up towards the sun.
Up towards the star that gives us life.

I put down my pen.
I study my right hand, my gnarled arthritic fingers.
Study the pale blue veins underneath the skin.
These veins knot and spread just like the tangled branches
Of the old Plane trees in this patch of woodland.

A patch of trees wedged between two roads
Where I can walk, safe from the rush of traffic,
And find some peace of mind beneath these boughs.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
February 23rd. - 25th. - 26th. 2019.
I started out to write a haiku, but the poem just got longer and longer.