Fingertips Poem by Abigail Pastor

Great and wise the
willow droops her fingers over the long grass,
seeding my backyard with light, springy boughs that
lie sweetly on the ground, and whip in her delicate
hand when she flicks her wrist.

She looses them in the wind,
stroking the breeze as I climb the makeshift ladder supported on her
seasoned side and sit, cross-legged, upon the platform harbored in her
belly and nestle in her wise arm as it leans and sways contentedly
while she sweeps the world with her fingertips.