I, too, knew
the sap-filled swaying
and time of dominance, when I grew.
Though the river took me, I didn’t complain.
I was abroad with my old friend, the rain.
And now, if stuck and hardened by years,
I never give in to nonsensical fears.
There are worse things to be
than a pebble worn smooth.
Not some nag of abstraction
who knows neither her mind
You war people come to my coffee and toast
from shadows collapsed to challenge your host.
Say you, you say, who here’s the ghost?
While a crow stands watch on every third post.
My love for now I leave unsaid
for want of love to back it.
Who robbed my heart of winter store?
Who’ll love for I who lack it?