Verse: camperdown elm

beneath the bower
the canopy of branches
that bend like arms
and tangle like serpents
in a self embrace
i count the strands of leaves
ribbons of green
like party streamers
that deny the persistent sun
and marvel at how still
the pond water has become
the illusion of nature
slowing down, catching its breath
when it's only me
that is the most amazing magic trick
of all.