I am the ancient Maple outside my window
rooted and reaching. I am the leaves green,
I am limbs both strong and broken,
twigs scattered on the ground
after the storm, wind still rustling
my giant petticoat.
I am ivy crawling up my trunk. I am living
witness to the street before it became a street,
to all lives lived in your 150-year-old house
and to the land before that.
I am your beginning and ending, shadow
and light, shelter and shade.