Trees

I've done things, to not be broken. Successful till now. Pruned entire branches from my tree of life. Had these others bent back by the callous, thoughtless passerby. Looked away for a moment from the bloom, now nothing but empty sticks remain. Dead thought leaves litter the earth all around my life. Ramose still but newly cleaved by lightning into two sovereign things. At last the realization dawns That what I called roots was the real tree. That what I called tree were roots flailing about wildly up in the air for all to see. And here immersed deep in this neutral ground I can feel the presence of others. Same weary mistake as me. Below the level of the earth, inverted. Waiting for Spring.