The Singing Ciruela

I look up from the hammock
in afternoon light, and wonder
how to tell the glittery green
world of the Ciruela that holds me.
I must try again to tell it
the world of the tree that suspends me,
the tree that speaks in Green, the being
that weaves her massive frame of trunks and limbs
into a wondrous web.

Five months after
being stripped and bared to bones,
after the trimming,
the slicing and balding,
she pushes new limbs out,
she thrusts them in every direction!
So strong the pulse,
she seems to grow before my eyes.
After such a diminution, life!

From new branches tawny raw and supple,
interlace a thousand pinnate leaves
into tender tapestry.
Between the leaves
peek perfect pieces of creamy sky.
And underneath the leaves
at the top of the tree,
here and there late light
touches her with gold.

Ciruela sends down waves
of sturdy love.
Here! Ciruela sings.
And I in my hammock also,
wish to be nowhere but here.
Now one year since we have met,
one year I’ve nestled
beneath her and above her
For I know her roots are giant as her trunks,
and I trust how she encloses me.

©Susa Silvermarie 2024