Chapter twenty-four
Willow
Willow, when the wind blows so your branches billow,
O will you whisper while we listen so we learn what
words your long leaves loosen?
If you whisper when the wind blows so your branches
billow, willow, we will listen for a day, a week, a year,
till we know what willows say, what willows speak.
Lean in, listeners, come below our leaves and wait until
the wind blows so our branches billow, listen for a year,
a week, a day, but you will never hear what willows speak,
what willows say.
Chapter twenty-five
Long You Linger
Long you linger, listeners, hard you press your ears against
our bark, but you will never sense our sap, and you will
never speak in leaves, or put down roots into the rot –
for we are willow and you are not.
Chapter twenty-six
Open Up Your Heartwood
Open up your heartwood to us will you, willow, show
your deep within, your rough without, your waterbrushing
bough, your shoot, your grain, your knot?
We will never whisper to you, listeners, nor speak, nor shout,
and even if you learn to utter alder, elder, poplar, aspen,
you will never know a word of willow – for we are willow
and you are not.
Before you move on, say the word 'willow' into the wind to spell the word back into being.
Both cat and fish but neither too, now walk a while down, along and through, to a place where water passes by, for otter is the keyword spell for you to spy.