The shadow tree

The shadow tree,

like a book,

holds history

between the covers

of its scaly skin.

Years hide

inside,

secret,

between the closed lips

of its silent bark.

He is not yet dead

but sleeping through

the long-nighted days,

waiting for the rousing kiss

of Spring sunlight

to conjure his awakening.

Only when he dies

will he release the concealment

of his age and the ravages of years.

Even then observations of trysts

and promises

remain closed from revelation

unless children-pages,

culled by his decease,

are inked by invention.