Countingyour branches were bare just two days agoi suppose there were signs of lifeand i knew it was about that timebut i couldn’t see just how closeyou were to shading my walk and hiding places of chirping and squirreling aroundperhaps it’s strange thati took the time to count the numberof monthsthat you will live in seeming fulnessbefore you drop thesegreens that delight my heartsix, maybe sevenand considered the number of days until the days grow shorter againi wonder at how the sight of new lifeand the warmth of the late-evening sun on longer dayscan inspire childlike delightand a sense of longing and lossin the distance of just one breathor even half of the breaththe ever-present remindergiving and receiving taking and letting goin-ing and out-ingfilling and releasingjust two days agoyour branches were bare