Divine

Looking down
I spot a “Y” branch,
All brittle and useless
With lack of sap and flaking bark.

It‘s missing most of the tail,
That would have served as my handle
In another place,
Another time.

I see it as it once was,
Sleek and full of life,
The living part and spirit of a tree
- And calling out to me.

My well-worn knife
Would free it from its host.
We’d form a bond of deciphering.
The earth speaks.
We’d listen.

From the dirt,
My other selves call,
Paying homage
To this Magickal Branch.
Mourning its dirty, useless, wasted Life.