THE TREE

There’s something mystical about the tree
finding me. In a little rented house
the landlord cut down the tree I lived with
and angrily I left to find my own tree,

this great tree, that had been looking
all this time. His spirit had suffered —
insects dug a hole in his trunk that he allowed
out of sadness.

It’s taken time to make friends.
I sit daily where he lives.
We watch time together.
I feel the spirit running beneath his bark.