Returning After a Thunderstorm
The old tree.
Perfected the sun the grass
Shines the old tree.
House on the hill, wood the auburn grey
Falls in May.
They whittled flutes and sprawled
The plain’s stapled tufts
And bound shoes.
Saw an owl once, reverent, mahogany
Statue living up there.
She was an aegis, xylem tower,
She never stopped anyone before.
But they remember her for that.