An Aspen or Sycamore expanding

The window from which i'm surveying
defines me
condensation holds
outlines of heavy breath
the magnitude of the sycamore this morning
(despite my best efforts)
will simply not leave
with the white evil of bumbling ghosts
or with father caught crunching leaves
for the sake of crunching's sake
casting autumn scowl
onto the adsorbing white void