The weeping cherry is a sparrow tree
bristled with birds and other small things
that shelter within the unkempt tangle
of the crown, spilling in knots like Medusa’s
locks would if she slept poorly and couldn’t
get a brush through the nest of snakes that
bare their teeth as I do with you when
you’re too long gone and this refuge recoils,
licking empty air with a thousand tongues.
Look away quick. Stone comes to those
who stare at the writhing that warns
without hissing. This one sings.
©Dana Hughes 1.14.19