A Seaside Tree Poem by Birgit Bunzel Linder

Trees walk the shore and shoo
the wind away. They shake off the noisy birds
and criss-cross the golden sun. They puncture
the clouds and dip their new fingers into ink
and send green letters into the sand and the sea.
Letters like the ones I used to send to you.
Their branches sweep the air clean
of predictability. The roots hold on to
the young tugging twigs. Far away a storm petrel
drops a cry across the waves. I wish
I could call you that way. When the sun
sets, the trees darken. A cat invades a tree,
quietly. It makes itself light
so as not to disturb the rhythm of the sway.
A shy albatross spreads its plumage
on the lowest branch. Once you spread
yourself over me. But cats have to prey
on birds. It is in their nature.
The evening symphony rises from the tulips.
A reed harp plays a lullaby. Slowly the trees by the sea
settle down for the night. They make peace
with the wind and forgive the birds.
I play my flute to a moon clawed by trees.
I play a silver white melody. I play from home.
And the notes rise into the sky like fog.
And they sink down again like rain.
The sea brings us salt. I shower in its tears
under the tree. I remember when you left:
the trees could not hold on to the moon.
But I could still hold on to your hand.
And I leaned against you:
Like a seaside tree.