Negative Degree Sense

Relish what I can, below a tree,
I think it’s old, hard to measure
it’s tenure– maybe it’s simply
tired, ready to retire, I invite
it to coffee, but only lets wind
push it around– so abusive, obtrusive,
stories before me recalled, recited
without me hearing. I leave. I need
a cup. Stay here if you want, I
understand, I think. Opening eyes,
directly at its neighbor. Same mood.
Where am I? Leaves collect, I run.
Not sure I was invited. Twist path,
bucket my list, with darker tryst.