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Tree or Wood

The sugar maple

a hundred feet into

the pure blue,

has three trunks

which two men

with long arms

could not embrace.

They sway a foot

or two in the wind,

their ample head

of leaves are sails,

rising and falling

like ocean swells,

their dark gray bark

like an elephant’s leg.

I think of the chairs

I might make

from its figured wood,

but wouldn’t fell a tree

more magnificent

than anything I

could create.