written, perhaps,
in the postures
of gnarled and
prodigious old trees
who never grew guardian
limbs this sturdy
to harbor
the likes of these
avian refugees;
whose vigilant branches
were never quite conscious
of the hives in their
midst, or their
startling fragility;
whose thunderous trunks
were never intended
to shelter slender squirrels
in their winter
dens of rest—and yet?
And yet, despite
all of this, nevertheless...
