Work in progress

The Lonely Tree

Dark fingers curling up into the sky,

An empty hand,
Alone in an empty field
Longing for a friend, longing to be needed
Can’t reach the sky, straining so long
Can’t an owl just land on me or squirrels scramble over my limbs?
Instead, spiders settle in, spinning thousands of webs,
Between my fingers and stretching into the empty sky
Complex patterns of thin veins exploding all around me
I briefly imagine that the spiders are my friends. They, too, are longing for company as they weave their...