Tree Talk (Poetry)

Long-fingered, the night wind invades my dreams —
plucks at nerves, unpicks the edges raw —
outside my tree is restless — at its heart
the greenman whispering seductive thoughts
that bubble green sap pictures hot with sun
and thrusting bud and sighing April’s breath.

Night moves slow — the greenman’s tongue slips wild
to plant dark seeds — quick-growing — sapling-strong
leaves clear as diamonds raining, frenzied birds
nesting, multi-coloured, flap and swing
on mossy branches. Vivid fantasies
that blur and run, escape the memory

by morning settling its grey-tone dust —
all living things a-shiver at its touch —
and magic gone to ground — my green love lost
to mist and distance — where the hills divide
and taken with him some small part of me —
a vapour trail dissolving, broken through.