Bare Trees at Sunrise

It’s next to nothing
For branches to slip
Into the light and then
Back into the night.
They do it each day,

And they seem to take
No notice except
Of the total length
Of the day, which plays
A part in their dance

Of leaves, growth, decay,
Repeat, like the days.
But what a process
To try to follow
From full light to dark,

From full dark to day,
The gradual change,
The absurdly slow
Cloak, dragged back and forth,
The long magic show

As it goes both ways.
Time-lapse is gorgeous,
But it will cheat you.
It’s your squirming view
That’s the performance.