919

the branch never falls
it dangles loosely
sways with wind
shakes and bends in the rain

the men trimming the trees
never cut it

it’s always left to greet
its father by slapping
up against the trunk slowly
and heavily

sometimes you think about
pulling it down
just to see what it would feel
like to alter the world
in front of your eyes

but you don’t

you watch it wish for leaves
you think it wishes

you just want it
to wish
it was like
all of it’s brethren
in the spring
hearty and not dead
and brittle