From inside the hollow of an ancient tree
a small moon of light shines down through the dark
illuminating an intricate lacework of spider webs,
each spiral orb marking its boundary
with a glistening miracle of mathematical precision.

Life in its hollow blossoms with use
like the inside of a suburban dwelling place—
a safe setting for the young, shelter from a fierce wind,
a place to hide from harm.

From sapling to old age, the tree’s roots have reached deep,
entwining with nearby trees like lovers holding hands,
spiraled trunk thickening, sap of life coursing through its xylem,
nourishing small ferns embracing its outstretched limbs.

Barbara Southard lives in close proximity to family, friends and the ferry coming & going from Long Island. She’s currently working on her fourth book of poems.

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