Although it mentions trees, this is not yet another part of my four part trilogy about them!

This is my latest poem and one in which I have been a bit freer about the line length and stanza form.

A way

I sit alone, not lonely,

with empty tables

fringed with red,

tipped, plastic chairs.

The traffic passes, but

does not disturb.

A calmness: denuded trees

in breezeless air.

Swimming dampened hair

that doesn’t face the sun,

tells me it’s cold.

A thermal chiaroscuro

warms what’s light:

what isn’t – isn’t.

People pass like shadows:

sun-simplified, backlit.

Though parts of me are cold,

I am not moved to move.

Tolerable, is enough.