and at the farthest tip of the
farthest limb, a tendril no bigger
than a hair, sucks rumour there,
sentence and information
an ancient beat of drums
still reverberating earth, their
morse code signalling
decoded as

the family tree
stretches, reaches, whispers
leaves, ideas, lets go
its fruit, its whirr
of seed twists
to earth

the freedom tree
rooted, and windy

and in the cool night air
the breath of centaur
and of hind 
rises through its trunk
the mind's vapours stiff
as sap in winter 
languish in the dark
Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem