|Dryad Number 2 (Photo credit: Stephen the Photofan)|
Dryad of the yellow birch
Turn away, winding dawn, before our iced creek
Or the farthest finger of my feather-coated birch
Whose barked branches reach even in sleep to kiss
My rebel spirit cradled to her soul even as my weepings
Lace my feathered patches to her snow-sleeved arms.
We are young and so wished to dance with birch stars
On scarlet feathers, amber feathers, bound by amber stain
Where courtship circling of stars is that of birds in love
Above the dark stone ravine whose wind-washed faces
Never cease to blow along the flint-embroidered shore.
But now my tree soul mourns with me, wiser in the ways
Of birch and wings, wind and stars, and of wishes, too-
That feathered trees never fly and wind-born stars fade.
So a little longer, harbinger of sun, hide us from sight
That we can mourn a little more before we greet the light.