If you suffer from dendrophilia like me,
you look up, on days like today,
into the long slender fingers of the oak branches
and contemplate the complexity
of cracking an egg
or a walnut in half,
(for you always get what you expect)
but what of the poor yolk of my heart
or the crisp, difficult nut meat of my uncertainty
when, leaf by leaf, the sun peeks through
the twisted joints and roots of a moment,
untouched by all that is before me,
especially when the sky is so full of hope?


Copyright © 2016 John Grimmett. All rights reserved.

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