john-angel oak

we are the wretched
stretching paleolithic arms
beyond formal perimeter
we have chosen to grow out
rather than up
there is nothing skyward
which concerns us
we are discerning divinity
in the turning
of this Earth
and learning humility
crawling through humus
amongst fallen fingers
of chlorophyll-ed comrades
spanish moss conjoins
our journey
an obtuse beauty
where we are linked
in symbiosis
an exploratory oasis
children dangle
about our branches
dancing across air
and take home
tiny tufts of our hair
as craftwork substance
the sustenance
of our purposed patchwork
the closest thing
you will know
to the respiratory system
of your planetary residence
your guardian angel oak