I keep returning my eye to the bare, multi-pronged tree stump,
whose status as a living object is questionable
near where the metal Phoenix is working hard to gain
enough momentum to leave a place
without a lick of greenery to soothe the soul
and where the 12 pane windows still intact reflect
the whiteness of the nearby building and the mostly
dark hues of close by structures while the clouds
without the sharpness of the angled lines below it
are dissolving into the steel grey sky
and making their way stage left before
everything beneath it unravels