The hanging fronds of my tree

The hanging fronds of my tree
swing with the wind

When it blows a lot
they move a lot
They thrash, slap, whip,
yank at themselves

When it blows a little
they move a little,
back and forth between the pull of the air
and the hold of the tensile trunk

In the odd hour of calm
they hang, simply,
as if it could be calm forever
but it never is

First published in Positive Words

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