at a
                           certain angle,
                         the tree defines             far off   
                              the backlit horizon with its branches
                  alert and stolid,     it crowns the hill      for years
                                    it has held its own                        against storm and
                              heat              it’s brave          and
                                               stalwart       as it stands guard,
                  just like its fellows along the                            hillside
                                          that falls away below our house
  but those full burgeoned and          stout          limbed giants
                           are far beyond my comprehension        I cannot look
                             into their                     nooks                and crannies
         chart each branch        as I coax my tree into fullness in a tiny pot so       I scan     
                                           the horizon that's                   embraced
                                                           by the spreading arms
                                                                     of this
                                                                          wee mir
                                                                             acle and
                                                                         hold the
                                                                         world
                                                                      in my hand