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.
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