Dryad

Dryad Number 2 (Photo credit: Stephen the Photofan)

Dryad of the yellow birch

Turn away, winding dawn, before  our iced creek

Or the farthest finger of my feather-coated birch

Whose barked branches reach even in sleep to kiss

My rebel spirit cradled to her soul even as my weepings

Lace my feathered patches to her snow-sleeved arms.

We are young and so wished to dance with birch stars

On scarlet feathers, amber feathers, bound by amber stain

Where courtship circling of stars is that of birds in love

Above the dark stone ravine whose wind-washed faces

Never cease to blow along the flint-embroidered shore.

But now my tree soul mourns with me, wiser in the ways

Of birch and wings, wind and stars, and of wishes, too-

That feathered trees never fly and wind-born stars fade.

So a little longer, harbinger of sun, hide us from sight

That we can mourn a little more before we greet the light.