Living Stone . Anh E-Bui Ho

The simple wooden plank suspended from

an overhanging branch upon two strands

of rope immobile hangs. No soul has come

to claim it. Knots once tied by loving hands --

the same that had once pushed a gaily swinging

child -- remain still taut and curled. It waits.

Perchance a passerby should stop and bring

companionship to loneliness abate.

The osteoarthritic branches of

the wizened oak extend a finger, gnarled

and snared by fraying strings of rope above.

The widowed hand, extended, beckons, snarled.

An errant breeze then agitates its peace,

now shuddering to life from reverie.