White Oak
On the white oak’s
long bare limbs,
on slender twigs,
powdery new
leaves send messages
to the roots
and the sap
starts to rise
like the tide
on a twilit beach
where wavelets
brush our feet.
Should we watch
the constellations
begin to shine?
Let the warm
familiar water
rise to our ankles,
to our knees,
our thighs,
higher until
we find ourselves
floating in stars.
By: Ralph Earle
4/17/19
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