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Pushing toward the Canopy

The neighbor turns away when I wave.
A lichened oak branch broke three stories up;
summer-dark leaves shake in the rain.
I donít know what Iím doing again.

The dangling branch tells three old stories:
Sapwood channeled my desire. Iím high
and donít know what Iím doing, again.
Ambition transformed into heartwood.

My sapwood rose and became me while
the ground mulled over water, water.
Any hardening heart could change its vote.
Rain, unwanted, runnels the dirt.

Too much water can weigh you down
till your summer-dark leaves shake with strain.
What do I want, if not dirt and rain,
and friends who turn to me and wave?

Lesley Wheeler


Fall 2017

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