A Tree and Age II

This tree that shades where now I lie
blossomed after other blossoms had dried
and filled my windows with pinkish light
and held at bay feared black of night.

The petaled blossoms on this tree
ended my youth’s self-centeredness
with a loneliness sharp I never knew
until my world cleaved into two.

And now the petals are a darker red.
I consider them daily from my bed.
The ponderous fruit weighs branches down
then drops and lies rotting on the ground.

And if my hair were not so gray
and I could remember how this game was played,
I would climb where tall branches sway and splay
then, like a ripe apple, just drop away.