Spare the Trees

I am here without promises.
My brother lost in the city
without his shoes. I cannot bear

to watch the light fall
from such great heights.

When we were safe, when we
were children, my brother's face

reminded me of sapling skin; now,
like tempered metal, cold, hard
and faithless. I'm not afraid to die;

I fear to be its witness.

One can only hope the start
of winter spares the trees.

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