I stumbled across what at first I thought
With the folly of hope, was a tree.
It was, from the first, an impossible sight:
Its wrinkled high limbs like the moldy rot
On blue cheese, enlarged and in 3D.
It swayed in the wind--no, all on its own--
As it lurched through the forest on foot
And I didn't stay long to observe it.
From what I remember, it was alone
But I fear that its spores may take root
In the wood by my house, where now I sit
On a bright afternoon, still afraid:
There aren't any trees, but I'm in the shade.
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