Naked Branches.

Come, says the writer,

look into my world.

See and hear,

touch and taste.

Watch the leaves flutter on high

on distant branches.

Smell the breeze

and listen as lovers talk

lying on an old quilt

by rolling waters.

Do so eagerly.

Do so lovingly.

Fall into my world and

into theirs.

Watch as they laugh and love

and yes, as one dies,

leaving the other to either suffer

or move on.

Sometimes it’s now

difficult.

Sometimes the branches seem naked,

bare, mistakes easily seen in other works,

and it could be difficult

to enjoy

if I were to allow it.