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.