CRYSTAL NIGHT

Birches solitary in winter cold.
Cinnamon peeling bark
(fine enough for wrapping gifts).

Stripped by November’s sudden storm—
iced leaves glitter.
Clawed bits of broken glass.

Roots that lie above the ground
crisscross into dark—hold out hope—
dream of soil and warm rains in abundance.

Betula nigra!

Tree of earth—tree of self!
We speak more slowly
our vows of trust—

strange whisper in winter’s
sharp blue
light.

Cradle of roots, flesh of mine—
we each become the other. I stand by you
and tremble
this uncertain December night.


Published in: ellipsis…literature and art, April, 2012