by Craig Arnold
You have towered here
leaning half over the wall
all my awareness
years before I knew
what silkworm was or China
I felt your berries
pulp under my feet
tracked your purple all over
grandmother's carpet
a sapling planted
by some sea captain to make
shade for a future
This winter you lost
one of ?your long low branches
to a backed-up car
and the old woman
who has known you all her life
wept at the split wood
Your bark is wrinkled
more deeply than any face
you live so slowly
do our voices sound
to you like the fluttering
of? paper moth wings
do we seem rootless
holding fast to the anchor
of ?the saddest things
Copyright ©:
Craig Arnold
Last updated April 06, 2023