A cool wind blows, yet in / out my slumbers
a truth arises out of nights’ storm.
A large part of me falls away, crack-willow-like.
On a decided trajectory towards new life,
With heavy bough to inevitability at its fullest extent
effectively replanted, at a distance from its former position,
growing beside me.
Now in fresh mud and early summer flowers flattened,
In the gravitational rush of its new destiny, there rests.
Still and equally true, in one part of me
are growth rings shown, of the former union.
And decided then, innosculation cannot be undone.
The innoscul, if I may call it that, goes all the way
In my heartwood I, you and the you, I will remember in my gemel way.
You bent so far with me in former storms,
the grain of our tree souls remember it in waves of timber,
Clear to see, if you would open me up
and gaze once more on how we have grown together, apart.
Strange, quirky fruits of experience, seeds a-blowing,
and set in their own earth last days of April.
But that, another woodland story, as yet untold.