The Bridal Tree
Planted as his gift
to green or flame, shade and balance…
From the blessed wood
The rainstorm felled another tree.
Some branches are thin
as the legs of a water bird
and stay suspended in half-flight;
landing or taking off —
its hard to discern the difference.
Drifting in sleep, a woman comes
and leans against the maple
in a white peignoir. Her sleeves
flume the light and her silk gown
catches on the calloused bark
as she looks toward the clouds.
Long-necked and southbound
they migrate like storks
heading toward the coast. She feels
appendaged to the sky’s flock
and the wood’s skeleton. The earth
bids her to fly away or graft
chance to a stronger root
of tree, of bone.
Love can re-grow and her house
will find refuge under the shade
of new leaves. Their boughs
grown strong, ringed with constancy
if she can abide the waiting —
the garden’s hidden bloom.