Bound
By Mary Buchinger
Posted on
On this path in the city fens
the man walking in front of me
listens too to the geese and jays
reporting their morning news
In a ragged jacket
and filthy chinos he’s steady
on his feet
I watch him study reflections
of reeds and sky in the shallow stream
edged by rocks and debris
His gaze turns
toward the tree I love the cherry
with a hole all the way through its trunk—
….that separate dead part of itself
……..it must find a way around
What remains
leans into the north wind
….channels air birds insects
…….through the emptiness
………sap pushing up into buds—
coiled nubs
like soft wounds tip its branches
….light-seeking somehow sure
……..bound to unseen roots