Tuesday, August 7, 2012

more than leaves

F O R   T H E    L O V E   O F    B U D S

I love them more than leaves waving across high transepts,
that cool the sweat at the back of the neck, and at dusk
become lace curtains; (I most love leaves
in their open-handed hovering, their rustling farewell,
their mournful winter-gone).

I love buds more than twigs, with their fine skin
and fingers pointing heavenward;
or branches, thick-wristed and elbowed
all clenched fist and biceps; or barrel-chested trunks
with skin of scale and scallop shell.

I love them more than roots facing the darkness bravely,
(though roots can hear and grip, and are ancient as November.)
Buds are young. Their eyes still blind they seek the light for anchor.
They scent their way, tuck out their green-tipped tongues
for tastes of rainfall.

I love the full and green of summer hedge.
I like the tall tree shelter.
I like a long and leafy ledge.
I love buds more, and better.

The poem is by a friend of mine, from his incredible first book, which I often find myself returning to - highly recommended:  Birds' Nests and Other Poems.

It seems to be a little hard to get a hold of these days - but if you can find a copy, it's lovely.


  1. Love the flower buds in a jar for a still life Shawna! I love all three of these photos.


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