The Tree

A sky-blue stretch was once a tree,

Its absence now an infinity,

There's no relief from endless space,

An empty pane to see.

The birds that sat at dusk and dawn,

Now congregate upon the lawn,

They cannot reason for the lack,

Or where the timbers borne.

I close my eyes and once again,

Give substance to the ancient frame,

An anaesthetic, yes I know

For the spectre it became.