Because you are strong.
Because your branches span out ahead of you
and in so many years, age has allowed breadth to match height,
boughs so heavy with time they touch the ground.
Because a crow can land as easily as the butterfly
and a bench so perfectly placed beneath you
is shelter from the heat. Because all I want is to sleep
under your canopy, to dream of families that feasted
on acorns, cooked quail and rabbit on soft ground
near your roots. Because you sit among the dozens
of fragrant roses and the white arbor overlooking
an English garden—amid the bee palm and hibiscus
with its orderly wildness. I cannot distinguish water
that rushes over the fountain’s stones from the wind
in your leaves. And this is music. And there is a shelter
like Mahler's little hut where the occasional deer can wander,
This poem first appeared in Lascaux Review (March, 2012).
Used here with the author’s permission.