End & Beginning by Athol Williams

The lone palm shakes its dangling locks
to brush off marauding gales. It tilts
then straightens, a Sisyphus of grit.

But the onslaught persists for years as
intent rips through the flesh of leaves,
snaps the bones of branches.

Cracked bonds run up and down
the tree’s trunk, tall with optimism,
but now bowing to an unseen god.

Then,
every cell lets go, breathless,
the concrete sky falls.