Glimpsed from the water, the expansive
canopy contracts in form, gesturing
to density and symmetry.
Sequestered, hazed in rain's amnesis,
glistening through filmy vapour
as the ferry glides downstream
towards a point made vague by cloud,
and the river cups its palms
for heaven's evanescent blessings,
matriarch Albizia, lost groves'
surviving archetype, spirals inward on
her heartwood, radiating from that core
in roots arterial beneath the loam,
the fountain of her dome counterposed
as dual image, camouflaged by foliage
articulating hope as growth, weaving
mantles for the seasons, breathing
into syllables of green and ivory and gold…