WEBVTT

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A poem about a tree in Berlin,
titled simply, "Spring."

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I don't know the name
of that tree that

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stood for a whole
winter under my balcony.

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But I do know now that it has
become a peacock, parading

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its colors, flapping its wings.

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Whenever the wind whispers
a message from its siblings

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into its ears, it
tries to fly to them.

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But the Earth refuses.

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Its feathers fall
on the sidewalk.

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Passers-by step on them.

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In a few months, it will tire,
bow its head, and disappear.

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But the three will
stay standing,

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dreaming of the peacock
through winter nights.

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