I have seen days when the wind weighs
so heavy on trees, they bend close
to breaking. A limb with the greenest leaves
or weakened by age would have to give in.
The trunk may have to learn a new angle
sunward. What is less apparent is the path
the wind must make. It has to unravel,
splitting itself into countless strands
to navigate between each leaf, each branch.
We take turns being one or the other.
this poem is for Margie