WITHOUT A MOMENT’S NOTICE
In the winter dawn hours
while I lay half asleep, half awake
I gaze at the window and make
out the silhouette of old trees
standing motionless outside
their skeletons and calloused skin
exposed, bare and true
Then without a moment’s notice
a greeting, gentle and warm
– a smidgen of light from the sun –
touches their cold silence like a
kiss on a mother’s forehead