The forest owns her
the ground anchors her
she doesn’t resist.
Her legs and feet
are stumps and logs
welded to her trunk.
Her hair rises to the clouds
that circle her top
and her fingers turn to leaf buds
at the ends of moving branches.
Swaying midst the rhythmic clacking
of greenery dried brown
She begins to hum and move her branches
up and up and up
Rain patters onto the forest floor
and her soles suck it up and feed it
to her shaggy, barky body
as her toes curl into the loamy soil
growing down and down and down
turn to tendrils that root in the earth
and make a home there.
This is called Tree Pose