Tree

Tree

The bristles 

of branches turn 

away those who try

to dismantle. An injury 

to the body is death for all.

The arrows are Life’s guardians.

Sharpened points, tipping each spear

of jade, face resolutely outwards, in spite 

of the world. The guards protect the trunk, where 

Life flows to 

every corner

of such a self-

determined being. 

And yet, the needles turn pillowy

in my hand, and the branch is snapped.