The fact that you can walk a street
And not a tree is not extinct
But somewhere else in cultivation

Seeds seemingly self-propagate
To satisfy an ailing street
Who’s assurance itself completes

It’s not that winter walk a street
And not a tree I want in lieu
Be that a whimper out a root

Leaves like a steam that waters
Leaf when it emerges from the towers’
Windows, many. Hours down the pavement

And not a mound of sweat betrays
Who’s cower branches inter me
Reach from the light to see a face

Creep, as it’s mist, but I’m inert
Seeds seem to cling so just beyond
That steam does never carry seasons

The fact that even in the patient
Love is sanct a street in *******
Lo, labyrinth the tree in sewers

But somewhere else are heat’s sensation
Icy and the answers deep, and
The fact that one can ask of love-

A tree who’s not a leaf undone,
But clings onto the end of year
Who asks what winter street we’re on