Tree,
full,
vivacious,
 
a bustling city of green, each leaf, an emerald building, swaying
atop a lush hill to the summer breeze, faster
 
the breeze picks up, becomes a gust of wind, blowing
heat from the air into waiting structures, spreading
 
red, yellow, orange flames, across rolling
landscape, green becomes red becomes brown, one building
 
then another, crisp and lifeless, falls
to the ground, the firemen arrive, too late, to extinguish
 
the flames, only to find the auburn ashes
of a city, drifting down the hill, the men
 
bury the remains, bit by bit, with thick white blankets, then
standing rigidly, black against white, is a bare,
 
silent,
lonely,
Tree.