Lone Tree on a Hill by Rachel Baird
I had my back turned,
delighted to have found
a hidden ancient spring
by the sound of it,
when I felt this call
from the ground beneath,
roots embracing in softness,
weft of lines, of wave
that turned here and there,
a joined river of life angling
beneath black soil,
that which endures,
sweet and full source as body,
as form and cadence
separate atop that hill,
in the distant shape of wood
stretching towards the four directions,
corners rounded beneath
a silhouette of leaves.
I let down my lostness there
as tree reached inside me,
rising through the liminal
speaking – come across. I followed;
it is not either of our natures
to be alone.
©2022, Rachel Elion Baird
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For more art, poetry and weather reports also visit http://rachelelionbaird.com and https://www.patreon.com/rachelbairdart
