When she stopped on the sidewalk
The cold November wind blew through her hair.
She gazed up at the gnarled branches of the tree
Her father planted years ago. The hardwood fingers
Scratched at the sky, as if to beckon out
The stars from their daytime sequesterings.
Her hair danced around her face like the
Feathery, tired clichés dancing around as the
Metaphor of her life.
"What have you seen?" she wondered
Aloud to the tree. Getting no response,
She shrugged and placed her
Headphones back on her ears; her words
And music echoed in her mind in an unlikely duet
Of uncertainty and contentment.