Public Republic

Katherine Van Hook

Photo: Ferran Nogués

He

digging deep in untraceable patterns.

and rose above the other trees,

the lesser gods of a playing field.

He was delighted,

enjoying both bloom and leaves,

of so many ornaments,

that helped him appear.

as more,

than impermable wood.

But, when the fall rains turned to brisker winds,

and those winds closed in around his bark,

He smiled upon his beauties,

as killers only can,

and shoved them,

to their unexpected death.

their bodies

still and shrivling,

lay dying on the ground,

around his feet,

forced the world to change for his octa feet, His feet

buried deep and safe in lively ground.

A protective cocoon,

designed to hide his vulerablilies,

in layers and layers of an unmarked maze.

He excuses any guilt or doubt,

For HE could do no other….

Diciduous by nature.

In the spring,

he reminds himself,

” There

There

remained,

will always be more leaves. are always more leaves. And

passing in their fragility.

They are only leaves. I am the tree. What did they expect?

June 27 2011