In the Crooks and Forks of a Magic Tree

There’s something about a Magic Tree that moves beyond complexity.
I see a trunk of an aging tree, but it’s not so simple as that you see.
Is that shivering twig an omen to be?
Did that gnarly limb reach out at me?
Did that twig-finger point surreptitiously?
Did you see that specter phantom sigh?
Or was that a figment of the eye?

Yet look over there in the crook of a branch
Do you see that wish with a second chance?
That hollow near the warty burl,
Is that a hibernating squirrel?
Look over at that thing on the right,
I think I see an inner light!
And near that fork with the melting snow,
There’s a shelter for those with no place to go.
There’s a landing pad in the upper right,
Where a passing raven might rest for the night.
And if you wander nearby on your way, there’s a hollow of magic just waiting to say,
The thing you need most to hear that day.

Then one day by the fire when it's time to recover, you’ll find a small sliver of something or other,
Let it carry you back to that time sublime, with its parsley sage rosemary and thyme.

About 83rd, behind the Museum of Modern Art