Grunewald

Lush unfolding,
sad skyward stare.
Brackish sap, unsweetened
by history's exiguous honey,
never tasted by those
who trouble weak roots
in search of flowers
to 'pretty' sour theories.
Soft canopy,
give shelter now
to your brother's children
who played wicked games
and broke your heart.
Here, in your dark,
let them sleep
and dream in green.
Laid bare,
crushed, dissolving,
in sad skyward stare.