Bull Pine                                                                                                          

Just outside the bedroom window

a grey pine determines our space

as two limbs lean 

poised over this frame

in a private painting

I think the sky will fall today

My love thinks the tree may

fall the other way

There is a curve at this horizon and

Doubt does not make love safe, I say

Hope is a thing with needles, he says

As the wind comes, we wager

This way, that way

Even one limb could

snap our pleasure

in two I warn

He groans and turns

the wind subsides