The Hackberry

 

this chrysalis
this pulsing knot 

    of linen Dear,
lies just below the ribcage
three fingers right of the heart
Oh!
How the yearning pulls at tissue & rhyme
each gaze-every pause
before you there;
stoic
unremarkably unmoved by my desire
no tendril finds its way
no barked embrace
your trappings stripped by winter's wind
gray becomes you
but Oh how soon adorned you'll be by April
you have born witness to my days
steeped in solitude & surrender
you remained
steadfast
mighty
two carolina wrens dance among your nakedness
(jealous I am not, as they are of my own making)
singing of blue promises delight
endlessly branched to the heavens
as the wind picks up
and I gaze
I pause
against warming roots
pressed
remained
three fingers right of my heart