The still leafless trees

Stretched full- bodied, 

Their tips pointed to the parchment firmament.

They would have been giant pencils

But their carbon dioxide did not solidify

Into carbon pencil points.

Besides, that firmament evaporated into endless sky.

The trees were rooted and could not fly

Unless a windstorm had surprised the peninsula on all three sides.

Not likely with this canopy of seamless blue

Past the season of ice breakers

And too soon for the cottonwood blizzard.

They are the poems.

I am the pencil and parchment.