Day 1,109

You live in a single room
with your family: your kids,
your sister, your
elderly mother. From the window
of the room you see
one tree. One tree. It changes,
as trees do, from day
to day. In summer
the branches were full,
abundant. Now, late
October, the leaves
have dried; a light wind
brings them down. Soon
they’ll be gone. Sometimes
you dream the tree
has been set afire: leaves
curling inward, twigs
bright orange, quickly
consumed. Sometimes
you dream the living tree
has your name, the names
of your children. Sometimes
you dream it’s nothing
but a pile of kindling,
ashes kicked up
by anyone
walking by, an emptiness
in the sky
where it had been standing.