O beautiful tree in your mantle of purple
What dead bones are you hiding
What cross-stitch branches
What mare’s nest of twisted lanes
Like the medieval alleys of Vieux Nice?
Do I dare disturb your apparent sanctity,
Tear of your whorish petticoats
Like Jeremiah’s thundering Lover?
Will you trust that pain and nakedness
Will serve you well
That sun and air will cleanse your hidden shame?
O, there is beauty deep within
That calls out to be unlocked!
The shears flash in the March sun
As the healer pulls out tan branches long dead
Fingers rake through your brown leaves
Trapped in entwining limbs
The lopper bites green wood too
Restoring form and balance
And revealing the true you
O Acer, bleeding and still
Ready for a new day
New growth
New hope.
MARCH 20, 2015
