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