Living Tree Poetry

I am a bird, who has drawn its cage around.

A spinning top,

which has spun itself into delirium.

A body, cushioned by the ocean,

sinking into oblivion.

That the head leads

up until the heart quakes and stops,

is a truth we are forced into accepting.

That when I rise I am an eagle,

and when, through weariness or grief,

or fear, I descend,

then I am a stone gathering speed

before coming to a sudden jolting halt.

Or I am a crescent moon

low on the horizon,

receding as a tide at its ebb,

to then gather momentum to turn

and come flooding as moonlight on a field.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
August 2021