No words pure enough

Wild Blossom

“No words pure enough
to speak this tree, its scented
poem, white silk. Is a life

long enough to learn its language,
intricate branches, its
thousand routes into sky?

See: its stars are not pinned
to unreachable boughs,
the burn of the absolute blue

but float, whisper-close, in wild
aromas. I breathe and see
the universe through its heaven

and the blossom makes a bride of me,
snows on my skin. Marries
me to the world again,

the fragrant and the green,
the longed-for return. Hardpan
dissolving. In blossom, light’s kiss.”

(Lynne Wycherley)