The Lichen

The lichen clings to his trunk Like she has for ages Holding fast, curling tight In pale green companionship The oak tree smiles down at her Craggy smile, chafed and gnarled with time To admire her diligence, to coexist At the meeting place where two form one When the rain taps in multitudes on his leaves When the night sweeps over like a funeral veil When the day lifts it as a morning bride Still she holds him, squeezing herself to his chest He begins to wonder, as trees sometimes do If it is time for her to uncurl, unlatch For all the gifts that she provides, and he returns Perhaps it’s time to diverge, to greet separate horizons But a stubborn, steadfast thing she is And for all his hoping and itching for progress She holds on, past the eleventh hour Past his need for her embrace And now when the wind whistles through, It sounds more like a wistful sigh, For the lichen promises and whispers And the fond old oak tree complies “Loving someone enough to let them go doesn’t always work.” Saturday, January 30, 2021 For Joseph May’s contest “Fabled Musings”