Upside Down

In late March

Walking beside a field

Cold loam brown

Soil salted with flint

The low cloud

Half pulled apart

Clumping grey

A pale white light between

Like the exhausted surf

After the waves have broken overhead

And in the middle

Of everything

A giant black silhouette

A dark lean branched

Tree

Its muscled raised arms

Reaching outwards

And in that searching

Stretching

Fanned out

Into stiff root curls

Almost into tiny radicles

And I fancy that

This tree seeks life from the sky

Sipping its water

Straight from the cloud

– softer than the bitter grit –

Breathing the air

Delicate bronchioles weaving the breeze

I fancy it buries its head

Budding below ground

Where the greenery can nestle

Securely

Just fanciful thoughts

Before turning to walk

Back into that other world.