Trees

In winter, naked,
standing sturdy
like megalithic lungs;
trunk for bronchus,
branches for bronchioles,
filigreed twigs
for alveoli, reaching
to our shared air.

In summer, clothed
in hidden industry
of living leaves;
a see-saw equilibrium,
give and take,
swap of our sour CO₂
for something sweeter. 

And we
upset the balance
towards a breathless tipping point.

Ann Gibson

If you have any comments on this poem, Ann Gibson  would be pleased to hear from you.