Only the trunk,
guillotined long ago,
remains.
From the trunk,
one limb, bends awkwardly, angles sharply,
skims the ground
like a bone, healed badly and needing support.
From the limb
one branch nurtures a smattering of green leaves
and stretches to touch the blue sky
in one optimistic gesture.
Seeking the future,
defying inevitable demise,
declaring,
I live.
