& it has a crown of emeralds / it thinks it is the guardian / of this painted afternoon / mint mold kisses its trunk / like freckles / ants roam the crevasses of its skin / they think the tree is a canyon / or the seafloor / or the weaving of a golden flaxen basket / the tree hunches over / vines curl around its ankles / its arms reach forth & open wide / it pretends to be a fountain / or a mother / or a friend of the skies / the tree is old / it knows this because it’s full / of untied knots / or unsewn holes / or unshut eyes / one day the tree will be like this stump / rings etch into its face / the crown of emeralds has been stolen / it is still a queen / wood shavings pay homage / in one corner / mold grows as black pearls here / the stump cannot let go of its former beauty / it is vain / & ambitious / it will not be something strangers mourn / or bury / or uproot / it is the palette of a contemporary painter / it is as if the galaxy exploded in this / very center