Oracles
Some trees stand like a trance, so self-possessed
It seems a sacrilege to clutter their
Immense tranquility with hungry nest
Or whispered roots like tangled dreams or hair.
These trees, like pregnant women, dazzle facts.
These limbs outshine Rapunzel’s myth; their heights
(Her barkless tower cannot compare) sprout bracts
More promising than all the manless nights
She loosed her lustrous hope for some dark male
Who needed hard possession much as she
Required him, toiling in her curls, to scale
Their shared admission of anxiety.
Some trees, like archetypes, appear to stand
Above desire, as calm as God’s nailed hand.