memories of iridescence gone
the tree stands
alone in the courtyard
surrounded by a hundred years
of stony solitude
displaying the slow advance of mildew and scale.
birds rarely overhead.
clouds lid the sky
so that breezes scarcely stir a leaf.
around the base
the ground is never shadowed,
only darkened.
the stones are only moist
but never wet.
stale and dying in a cold box,
one final message is given:
a single white blossom.
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