For CHM

For whom I once wrote: "Still thinking about the downward bending trees, our pleasant wandering in Holden Arboretum, and the color of your eyes."

This tree is within 1/4 mile of my home along the nightly dog walk path.

 

Not every branch of every tree always

                Is upward bound except that central spike

                The primal sprout which climbs to claim first light

                Before its brother leaves. Of these some twin

                And rise as forks to share the summer rays.

                Others lower, late to branch, curve hornlike

                Outward, to clear the shades of leafy night.

                These strategies, science concludes, form rules

                Aright for branching in most plants and trees.

                But this branch gnarled back upon itself makes

                No defense of its wayward course. Not walls

                Nor ceilings blocked its trace. For all its bends

                Yet branch it is. Not ours to gripe. Its free

                Haphazard turns suffice for our delight.