Who do you weep for, willow?
you, certain, stalwart of goodness-
roots seeking solid footing,
leaves seeking light ever faithful…
Ne’er do you hasten to where you know not to go.
You shout to the heavens
from your core of ringed reminders
of years past.
Shed are the layers of yore
for the treasures of the present…
You see he who adulates his own virtues-
Yet still you smile upon and
watch him run within four walls.
He hastens to where he cannot go.
But you know where peace exists
and in your patience,
it is him you weep for.
Even as the glass plane of still water
will hold a wrinkle from a passing breeze…
underneath, a maelstrom of
of unsettled molecules
alas all colliding…
O the exterior contrivance!
All is not always what it seems.
I possess a bit of you both.
Grappling with desire
I hasten away from where I should not go.
Tho’ my roots bemoan my outward facets-
contented depth confused with the shallow surface
of my wanderlust and weeping-
in my self-pity…
I hear your wise whispers, willow:
“pray, delighted soul, let the breeze visit, but
reject temptation to force wind
upon icy countenance
through self-mass in motion.”
I now, upon your word, shall not be moved
despite my own desire.
I am held
as weeping branches
in the wind.
That is life, willow.
…and I close my eyes
to remember the breeze.