I’ve been bumping
into trees my whole life.

The mushroom tales
and solve for infinity equations

we’ve dreamed up—
only possible when arms

and bark collide. The way
we shade the wood ducks

and mallards and
Canada geese and rock

pigeons and robins and
red-winged blackbirds

and one great blue heron

beside the wetland island
inside the northern limb

of the lake. The way
their bumping space

could only arise
from the gnarled oak

growing sideways
over the water.