Wednesday, June 17, 2020

A girl

 
The tree has entered my hands, 
the sap has ascended my arms, 
the tree has grown in my breast - downward, 
the branches grow out of me, like arms. 

Tree you are, moss you are, 
you are violets with wind above them. 
A child - so high - you are, 
and all this is folly to the world. 

Ezra Pound