But A Tree

It is but a tree, a towering Bohemian
with branches laid bare in winter's
garb, a near-naked example of

nature's whim. My heart, my eyes,
my wandering soul, are drawn to its
seemingly vulnerable state and to its

contradiction of strength and weakness.
From its lofty reaches, a branch has fallen,
torn from its tethers by ferocious

winds, stripped of all semblance of life,
hanging now, its gnarled fingertips
grasping a lower companion, at the mercy of

every random breeze, refusing to allow
itself to be freed, refusing to fall to earth,
simply refusing to give in. I watch

it sway and hear the scrape of bark
upon bark, and still it will not let go.
I admire its tenacity, its consuming need

to remain among friends, its dance
of attached freedom, and I wonder
why it has captured my imagination

and why it has intrigued me so...
yes, it is but a tree and I am smitten,
completely and utterly, smitten.