Tree (Poem)

Tree,
thirst for oxygen,
tempera paints and lichen.
Grimy streets,
with spaces that crack open.
Time.
Solstices and social networks,
postwar calendars.
Children, elders who come undone.
Torrential rain.
Metamorphic dragonflies.
Oil and magma.
Weapons that tear through the night,
with their infernal noises,
of birds of prey.
Perhaps we are part of the anchor,
clinging to an infertile space.
Calm.
In perfect balance.
Oil paint and blood.
Deformed canvas.
First screams.
Horror.
Dogs barking.
They bristle.
We chew roots,
in the infinite darkness.

Image created by me using a prompt in Qwen.

To @wakeupkitty