regrets are like evergreens

outside he blames
cold snowy weather
clinging to evergreens,
white fingers so close,
those white hands
struggling to find a way,
gentle soft falling down
to rest on frozen ground

outside he waits
waits till seasons change
yet evergreens persist
they make him angry
those ghost white hands,
pine needles, red bleeding,
spring leading summer
but evergreens remember

he walks
wishes time away
his beard grows long
he sings by heart the song
of pines rustling in the wind

outside he sits
buttoned for another
a long hibernation
like a gnarled old bear
his New Year knows all
none can change this
only steadfast everygreens–
they never let him sleep.

[author note: circa the “degas ‘three dancers’ journal 2003” – an admitted total break from my usual style]

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