Friday, November 9, 2007

Arboraphile

She's given up on men -
it's the green ash down the street
she wants to marry. Every autumn
when the mantle of leaves
blush crimson and tassels
drape as epithets along countless shoulders,
her knees turn to putty and
her hummingbird heart must carry her home.
Love is like that - abundantly it handles
every handicap. And while
her left brain points out the madness
of this trans-kingdom infatuation,
imploring her to reconsider;
its logic leapfrogs over her dreams
of this most perfect life: tree and woman
endlessly exchanging sighs,
feasting on the sun dawn to dusk.

1 comment:

blue aisling said...

"Love is like that - abundantly it handles every handicap." and "...tassels drape as epithets along countless shoulders" are great lines! Maybe it's the dryad in me, but I really love this poem!