Micronation of Light

There’s one particular tree
On the mesa, one that seems
To be separately lit

Any sunny afternoon.
It’s a smallish juniper,
Maybe three tall humans high,

A few piñon, prickly pear,
And scattered ponderosa
Stand around in the same light,

But it’s different for this tree.
The brain and the eyes work hard
Together, but can’t see why.

It’s an ordinary green.
It’s not lit up from within.
Its compact core sculpts shadows

In some peculiar way,
So that the whole tree seems carved
Out of green stone and sunlight,

And the sunlight’s normal gold
Looks tarnished on it, almost
Tarnished silver, like moonlight,

As if the tree had been brought
Out of another painting
Of another time of day

And discreetly, stealthily
Transplanted here, to look weird,
Magritte smiling in his beard.