Branches, do you feel satiated
in the summer, the lush sheen of leaves,
saturation of sun?
It is December. What do you sense
in the river of wind coursing through the spaces
inside of you?
The snow lies on your bark like stubble.
There is a nest on your highest limb,
a bowl of twigs gradually filling with snow.
See how it balances, it doesn't spill,
so well-constructed is it within you.