Peach Tree

Late autumn. I watch light purify
while clouds grow heavier,
freighted with gold, cyclamen.
Vines have turned this tree
into a nest; tendrils snake
around boughs, thicken,
sprout more pointed tongues.
Resolutely, I unbind,
cut double, triple, sinews
and unresolvable soft knots.
Spade-shaped leaves fall
to reveal silver-brown bark,
a winter integrity.
I work downwards, wrest
multiple roots from
a woven floor, cease only
when all efforts fail,
knowing the vine will return
in its own time with renewed
strength to challenge mine.