TRANSFORMED WILLOW Poem by Silke Scheuermann

My grip in the ground
was almost forgotten I stooped low
Sardonically the storm
inspected the resistance of my twigs
and then the fight began
in earnest

There was something about the wind that freed thoughts
brushed through them thinning them out
and something that reminded me of dying
That singing let me know that this here
was no world in equilibrium
Now one place now another
was cleared in accordance with imperfectly familiar
instructions - quiet instructions
issued in silence Where

I stood I found
my fear again
It resisted for all it was worth
unwilling to make the adjustment to
a different place It was still
in charge
How much longer? Finally
it was only a beginner
in the clouds

All round me I saw cars
with tinted windscreens as though
not far from me
there was an eerie
undertaking that
was steadily growing
as it might be, a timber business
or rot What

would I let go of
first? The pain
that needed me less than I needed it?

I would grow terribly light
as if I floated over the years
a black sign
lofty and
illegible