Topiary

I cannot know twisted Henriette of the plant kingdom
Engrafted with a crutch. And yet her bulbous concerns
Effuse a solid blue from inside,
Like a steel Dryad, and her gaze effaced
 
Shines with distended power. Otherwise
These clusterjewels would not dazzle us so,
As limbs proliferate through her pulped brain
From dendrites where creation flared
 
And this crippled tree would seem defaced,
J’Accuse! beneath the lace of this clipped sister
And would not glisten in synaptic blasts
 
Would not, from all the reaching boughs of self,
Burst like ripe sapphires: for here there is no place
That does not see you. You shake forth a nest.