How a tree twists in the wind, but doesn’t,
the entire tree never in unison if we care to notice.
For if we did, we’d come to know how
half a tree, and half of halves, never meet
other parts, never touch other sides, like hands
and feet of a body working together but never brushing;
along here is pressed by the wind pulling
and shifting another quarter through limber branch
across the body, wild air turning only a limb
on one side though the entire tree moves as a being, or
how only the leaves of one branch on the tip
of a larger is flipped by hint of coming rains.
Larry D. Thacker’s poetry can be found in over sixty magazines and journals, including Still: The Journal, Poetry South, Mad River Review, The Southern Poetry Anthology, Mojave River Review, Mannequin Haus, Ghost City Review, Jazz Cigarette, and Appalachian Heritage. His books include Mountain Mysteries: The Mystic Traditions of Appalachia, and the poetry books Voice Hunting and Memory Train, as well as the forthcoming Drifting in Awe. Visit his website at: http://www.larrydthacker.com.