Soft Maple Street

There is a white in the air.
I love the bare beauty of winter trees.
so fractal, skeletal and pulmonary,
yet so alive, it is they who own me.
Let us sit down to it, one on the either side
do not be afraid, it is not so,
behind the glass, the world whirrs, tender,
The sky is featureless, the light spreads
like a stain, blank as white walls.
touching and melting
frost on a leaf, curdles with greed,
Someone has spilled another day.