Banyan

See, banyan tree is never grown, is never finished

she continues to advance, to make her glacial progress, over hill, over land

always willing to send out an optimistic branch snaking toward horizon

trusting that roots will follow

will swell and split and send a tangle of string to forest floor

will trickle down molten layers, a syrup-thickening into elephantine-muscled limb

constructing a colonnade of roots, a temple

flexing, stretching, letting down her hair

One day I left the path on the way to the Valley of the Shadows,

skirted the darkened maws of mutton bird burrows

and sat cross-legged on the earth between two banyans

sketchpad resting on my knees, a shard of ink-dipped driftwood stabbed into the soil

and listened, and heard

the steady drip of sap descending, the coaxing whisper of the banyan

if you reach, I will follow

if you stretch, I will steady

if you fly - know that you will touch down safely on the soft, snail-shell speckled soil

See, banyan tree is never grown, is never finished