I'm gazing up into the high tree canopy,
the tall poplars arising from rhododendron
decorated with their waxy blooms
like brides at a wedding.
In the heat and buzz of summer,
a breeze comes through the tree tops,
softening, softening,
until all the leaves are waving.
"Remember the Mother!", they seem to say,
inviting me to let fall,
to give it all up,
to let it go and be Her baby again,
renewed, crazy drunk with love,
waving my green branches
as though all were perfect,
all were intoxicated,
all were full.
Annelinde Metzner
July 3, 2020
