over scours of vast windswept outlands
spread of my own emotional desertion
stands an oft-ignored and lonely tree
peened in blistering scabs of pebble bark
scratched in aged streaks of slate grey
joints fused by insensitive lightning
a lost branch painted in black soot
bound in spells—I unwittingly molded
the shapes of cold—heartless wind
my anvil lungs—rusted by my pasts
survived each fuming squall of time

my home—once a tall verdant forest
bathed in deep—rejuvenating vapor
breathed in every creature's exasperation
as our strong timbers were hewn down
by villages cursing our skinny breadth
they doubted our remaining potential
and mocked our dreams of possibility
now—they fuel fires of our forgottenness
as mists of woodlands still dwell in us
we grew into a more useful green home
for life seeking rest from windy burns

in my solitary stand of muted desolation
I may look discouraged—but I rejoice
in every bird that now dances upon me
congregations—cauldrons—conclaves—mobs
murders—bevies—aeries—banditries—charms
packs—squabbles—hovers—parties—deceits
asylums—watches—scoops—whirligigs—wisps
gulps—possies—volts—wrenches—falls—herds
unbefitting labels for myriad flocking colors
blessing my spreading wings of a new refuge
where a warm Mother—ministers to us all