By James Lineberger

it glows in frozen streaks
each of its feathered limbs curved gently upward
and i find myself pausing
at the edge of the drive
to stand very still in the needles of rain
as if anchored here too
stretching my arms overhead
like some arthritic unpainted mime
not because i need to make
a statement about anything
just that every now and then
like the silent unfolding wings of the tree
something stirs within me trying to say
it believes

James Lineberger is a retired playwright and screenwriter. His poetry has appeared in Boulevard, The Cortland Review, The Main Street Rag, UCity Review, Natural Bridge, Pembroke Magazine, Quarter After Eight, Free State Review, B O D Y, and Misfit Magazine.