Where does the flower make
a bed?

Where does the briar wind
and bend?

The ground into which their
roots extend;

Like interlocking fingers with
the grip of tenfold vices.

Into which air does the scythe-
winged Jar cry?

In whose hour does the Tawny,
Long-eared
and Barn owls
hoot, chit and call?

The time of the stars between
dusk and dawn;

When the one that is at its
Zenith at noon illuminates other realms
between rise and set.

What drifts and weaves unseen through
an emerald canopy?

And carries a spiderling into the realm
above the clouds?

The one that dances across the
Beaufort Scales;

From One,
to Twelve,
and back again.

What has clean, elegant limbs
in winter;

Gains clusters of flora in the
midst of spring?

Followed by green apparel in
Glorious Summer?

Apparel that makes some resemble an
earthbound cloud;

That turns to citrine, crimson or gold
in autumn?

Trees,
Trees,
Trees and more Trees.

. . .

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