Beneath the gnarled, wide pine,
spongy crunch of leaves and needles,
blanket of seasons and years
I call it the boundary tree—
survivor; hurricane, ice, and culling
Standing at the meeting or divergence;
two paths leading to the summit,
connected in a loop
Left or right, north or south,
my energy and time determine
which direction and how far
Either choice returns me to this tree;
this boundary of
coming and going
Originally published by Dancing Elephants Press.
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