wisdom winds branches
round branches
and spreads them
and leans ever higher
growth upon self
taking support
from it’s own mirrored growing
outstretched and trusting
a hundred years slow

and I am the speck
am the fleetingest colour
that rests at the roots
in a moment of hope
that somehow
this wisdom
will touch me
and impart
that I might learn something
a hundred years slow