THE OLD BIRCH

On Campbell Point in Kincaid Park the ski
Trail does loops and arabesques around
An ancient climax spread of tumbledown
Alders, firs and birches. The oldest of these,

Misshapen, gray, a veteran tangle of cumbered
Limbs, a weathered amputee, is loaded
With alabaster snow. Its disembodied
Spirit speaks: “My living days are numbered

To maybe another season or two. It’s time
To remember my sapling years when winds would leave
Me winter-bare. I yearned for bulk and wreathing
Crystals then. It’s odd to feel when I’m

Sapless and silent my lifeless branches will still
Be holding the glistening snow-puffs through the chill.”

(139, December 8, 1993)

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