Poem: Old Tree

 

Old Tree

 

i want to hug you,

shimmy up your shorn smooth sheath,

past branches gone as cobwebs,

the knotholes a cuneiform

whose bruises inlay my chest,

so when i descend

every lesson of weather,

every breath and teardrop

known to the sky,

goes with me.

 

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10/20 ... "goes" replaces "comes"

Exhausted.  Praying that fascism doesn't win the upcoming election.  The ugly prejudiced violence of a cult of hate.