From this old river bed
I cannot see the moon.

Jealous trees are slung
This way and that.
They twist and turn,
Stab and scratch.
Fighting the sky,
Fighting me.

The gangly, naked branches
are confused, you see.
The moon,
The moon and I are old friends,
Far older than those trees can remember;
Back when I was young
And the trees were only sprouts.

You see,
A river once ran wild here
Beneath my head,
Beneath my feet.
And the trees drank
And I swam
And the heavens shone
All together.

But having sucked
The river dry,
Bitter and Brittle,
These trees,
Like spider webs,
Tangle with my cries
And reaching fingers.
For you see,
The stars and I are lovers:
Have been ever since love was love,
And envy grew green.
But now black barren branches
Bar our gaze
to leave me cold
And lonely.

If I was tall
I would cut them,
I would slash, thrash and wail.
But I am small,
Dried up.
My frail bones can't stretch
And their thick bark won't yield.
So as they stand and as I lie
There is to be a rivalry
Between riverbed-me
And those trees that hide my sky.