They were standing there, two trees
With branches winter bare like arms
Reaching up into a closet, or up into a cabinet
Perhaps like you reaching for something.
They were rooted there, trunks thick and gnarled
Like two old warriors, resting but still ready.
One was bent slightly as if too many years
Of looking up had passed and now that posture
Was going to be always that way.
In the air they seemed to touch each other
Without touching, branches close enough
But some space always between them.
But I was thinking of the roots, those intertwined
Fingers beneath the surface, where no one could see.
How many places did they touch there?
Were there roots so entangled that nothing
Could ever pry them apart? Were there still new feelers
Out reaching, looking around for something new?
Or had all of that stopped now, and all was going
Deeper and deeper and deeper?

Standing there, two trees.

12/06/2007

Posted on 04/02/2008
Copyright © 2026 W. Mahlon Purdin