The Sand Hill Review               http://www.sandhillreview.org 2009

Quercus

The Live Oak—

full, and fluttering.

One muscled arm,

crooked around the sun.

Through woody lifelines

stubby fingers

reach up and out,

grab at rushing clouds.

Breeze buries me with branches,

dark seeds enter my flesh.

To steady myself I lean

against the gnarled trunk.

I see with my fingertips,

and draw out my own world.

Sunlight burns leaves into birds,

they whirl into the sky.

Lara Gularte