From “Lockdown Garden”

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A poem
From “Lockdown Garden”
(Courtesy: Basile Morin, Wikimedia Commons) 

The bark is smooth, flaky,
the trunk hollow;
midway, black-edged, is a hole
big enough to put your hand in
or the whole arm. From two
sides, branches come out, whipthin,
green-tipped. The tree
is otherwise bare. Too tall to be
a stump, the crepe myrtle
is preparing to flower.