Beneath the bare trees
stripped to sky, and
smelling of dust, two old
hands hold, fold and refold
a thin sheet of earth.
'Where is the wind? And
why is the wind never
a tree anymore?' the hands ask,
folding. 'The bare branches
of the bare trees no longer
hold anything. All falls
through the thin earth.
Why, even the sky, ' the hands
say, 'has dropped all of
its clouds.' Kobus