High in the House

The long fidgeting leaves
of the gum trees,
the waving branches
outside the window
belie the stillness
of the room, the glass
sealing me inside like
a specimen case.

High in the house
we might be of the trees,
gliding around the globe,
looking, swooping down,
settling in at evening;
but I feel like Stylites,
a hermit on a platform;
better to worship
on the ground.



(Julian O’Dea)

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