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47 - The Island
One cypress tree
Its flat top tells us its more than 250 years old
The dome of its roots supports the hulk of its trunk
And an archipelago of knees
Like snorkels
Allows its roots to breathe
On this island a button bush is at peak bloom
attracting dozens of nectar seeking zebra swallow tails
the beauty of the rose recently faded,
drops its petals onto the tea stained water
In the crevice a water snake lies sleeping
A menagerie of insects inhabit the layers of bark
And further up, a hole made by a red-bellied sap-sucker
Is now the home of a prothonotary warbler
In the crown of the tree
several hundred pounds of sticks and branches
woven together form the nest
of a pair of osprey,
their young, though recently fledged
still alight on the outer branches
If a man had to be an island,
a cypress tree island would be the life for me.

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