A BOUGH IN SIX DIMENSIONS

I
Perched, its shadow
bleeds the bough,
spring is rising sap
and blackbirds waiting.

II
On the highest bough
a caterpillar contemplates
the possibility
to butterfly.

III
Bless the tender twigs
clinging to the bough
who tend to dewdrops
before they fall

IV
The circumference of the bough
is larger than
a soldier’s arm.

V
Can boughs dream of
being carriers
of eagles’ nests?

VI
Poetry is born from
timber, boughs and pulp;
paper ink and muse;
it’s wood and blood.

TheParkBenchReview