Ode to an oak-tree
Oak-tree, I pay homage to you
and place myself next to you
you greet me, I can hear the low murmur, like the boulevards
seeping round the peace of the park.
We read your purpose leaf by leaf, before you lose the summer
in folios to a gale and turn into a skeleton.
Your roots are shadow-branches, you have four dimensions
the corners of the earth meet in your crown
where they tussle
I can hear the sizzling, loud like a tablet.
And your trunk is an extensive tethering stake for giants
green shoots can explode inaudibly in your upper frame.
Old friend, your voice lay buried in a bog
but your suppleness has made you black as the earth’s shadow-beings.
Potential coffins, tables wait for a chain saw
you great burnt photo of my sorrow
that keels over.
For you land at my feet, and I remain standing, alone.
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