Rowan

In your deep palm

the berry broke open

spitting out a pronged seed

the curved shoot was olive grey

•

now the sapling is in leaf

the lowest panes of the window

are scratched by its flexing twigs

and dusty fronds

•

in the night there was a drumming of thunder

a lightning bolt buried itself

in the dry clay

I saw an old woman with hollow breasts

standing out there

amber sap ran down her parted legs

there was nothing she could do about it

•

before noon all the panes of my window

will be obscured by flowering spikes

moving in the wind