LICHTENBERG FIGURES, YOU Trees shed leaves the way I shed faces, collectively holding our breaths until we can flower once harsher weather ebbs. The last leaf clings to its limb, to seasons gone, the way I cling to a mask that no longer fits. Maybe it never did. Naked trunks sprout from scorched earth branches feather out like jagged bolts of lightning waiting for the rain to learn how to breathe again.
