i don’t know my trees. perhaps
the tree that grows through
the constructed hole in this
small cabin’s small deck,
perhaps it’s an invasive
european mountain ash. it looks
similar and has the white Spring
blooms, though i’ve not seen
the clustered red fruit that birds
are said to love. this maybe
mountain ash which is maybe
invasive, is not invading
the front of my cabin. It grows
through a hole in the deck
that was constructed specifically
for it. the leaves of this tree provide
coverage for the cabin; when i pilot
my rented skiff to the island this
cabin rests upon, the leaves
of this maybe tree allow only
glances, the cabin materializing
in the chuff of wind,
the shimmy of leaf. when Summer
fades to Fall, this small island
cabin becomes more visible
to the small bay of its anchor. this is a scatter
of land that is not often
denuded of cloud. towering
sky is more frequently given
cloud’s soft ceiling. but
these trees, those with names
and those without, they do not
lack for green. the light,
diffuse through the veil
of cloud, it still reaches
these trees. and they still
enflame in their emerald and mint
of cabin coverage and soft-sigh
sway of coastal breeze.
Summer now nears
its inevitable failing. the sun
daily arcing through the sky
in ever shifting angularity. leaves
will tire of their reach
for light, and quietly drift
away. this maybe mountain ash
will continue
in its invaders skin
and porch hole home,
long after i have left
this island cabin, and ceased
to inhabit my sometimes
maybe home.
zakschafer.com 