The large basin
just south of the main house
grows trees like broccoli,
great maternal things
full of braided bark.
ion the summers the
cattle lay and low
beneath its cool branches
and gnaw at its surfacing roots.
The tree, still green
in this heavy blanket of winter
is patient and holds
the sun, the shade,
and a thousand ghosts,
whose bodies and stories
all lay still within
te reach of her river-like roots.
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