I did not hear the lightening
 break, splitting the tree in half.
  Yet there, half of him lies,
white leafed, a fluid embroidery
 cloud covering the road, hued
  by the street lamp light.
Branches and leaves
 that yesterday touched sky,
  every kind of wind and light -
haven to birds, squirrels and minikin
 creatures, now occupied the darkened
  street. The standing towering half
    must wonder why this is so.
My hand tenuously brushed over leaves,
 before several stories high,
  now a moving, unmoving wave,
still beautiful auraed in green.
 Still beautiful and unusual on
  the cement, like sky on ground.