Tree Plus Girl

Pity the girl who’s never loved a tree
do-si-doed brown arm branches, loving all,
or shinnied up to perch, a bird, feathered and free
yet tethered to her taproot, stretching tall
to touch the highest fractal-forked twig
where each leaf vies like a ballpark kid to win
its place in the sun. Oh, to discover a big-
as-life sky bough above the din
of the banal and listen to Goddess Gaia knit
sylvan canopies and see the Greenman spit
foliage out of the sides of his grin and dance and whirl
singing, “pity the tree who’s never held a girl.”