Tuesday, November 11, 2008

poet tree


carve her name
in the oak of my heart,
a man of letters
sitting still at last
beneath this poet tree

swallowing mud pride,
my rootless days
left behind in
kissed dirt's spit
upon this sacred ground

kick the wood,
stir stump promises
that termite teeth
smile to keep
safe inside a mouth

timbers embraced
by vine, held fast
in the crawl and grip
covering, coveting
our initials

climb toward doves,
above cold stones,
take apples
for the words
i cannot find

maple fire song,
gospel shout
from treetops
i aspire
beyond, above

dance with me,
swing from branches
to shake leaves
like bells
summoning revival

bark grown back
over whittled away
can never hide
her name's

hewn into wood,
not upon the wind
that once carried
this acorn unwritten

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