The Branch

Is a strong one, an old one.
Accustomed to the weight
of the people who choose her.
She believes in the simple joy
of offering them what beauty she can

She makes the wind
whisper in their presence,
shaping the sounds
with the perfumed scoop
of petals by the thousands.

Beyond the whisper,
there is a song in each wind.
The branch knows this
and sometimes
with a simple nod

she lets it in between
her nesting finery
to weave
ribbons
soft ribbons

of arms that hold
those she chooses,
the people who find
their welcome in
her holy place.

She likes to hear
them sigh
in peace.

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