Dreams of the Acorn-Child

I fell to you a fettered acorn-child

Not seeing the ambition held under

my scalloped acorn-crown.

I bounced upon your fecund ground.

Coming to rest upon

a prescient fallen branch,

I smelled your water scent

breathed in your sunfire glow

Drawn into your soil's soft ovation,

your constriction freed and filled me,

flourishing a vision

in the pliant mind of the acorn-child.

Dreams of oaken dendrites daring indigo skies.

This divination bursts the callow crown

exploding it into snapshot constellations

and in the softest summer dusk,

unveils the unmade histories.

Tiny, everyday miracles wink and

flutter among our leaf legions,

shimmering the silver-green canopy.

Reflecting our sunshine into abundance

and letting us secret some sunlight away

for when the days are darkened.

*****

You coiled and spiraled our branches

spinning my compass so that I missed

the empty days that fill so many.

Your lucent synthesis lifting me.

We sang out our love song's only lyric,

and danced through the mystic alchemies

that fold us upon each other

over and again

over and again

until our innate fruits form and we rejoice.

Your laughter tickles the leaves and they flutter,

feeding our thready roots, and proclaiming

the solstice wind slipping through

our simple twilights.

*****

You let me go dormant in

winters of wishful deception so that I

combust and burn green velvet fires

when the time comes to melt

through the requisite cold work.

*****

We turn our faces upward to supplicant warmth.

I see the breeze carry your pure solutions

through our brazen branches

shaking loose the practiced philosophies

foist upon us by souls that dangle,

held only by the abating stems

of burnt-brown leaves

and unquestioned awe.

Watch them detach, and tumbledown thud

to commence their deconstruction.

They fail to cleave us from the comfort

of our saving and cracking bark.

We sleep among treetops. Our branches and roots

beautifully bound in happy convolutions that

no strife or squall can put asunder.

*****

So we wait and wither and yield

to the world who depends on us

feeds on us

loves us.

Until that crowning fall and crash

resolves itself in a cushioned thump

our love-gift to a fertile, incessant forest

that nods and returns to its

endless moil and toil.

While we lay in our leafy bed,

entwined in eternity.