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Cherry Tree
Will Hall '26
Black knots
climb up,
covering autumn foliage
in sprouts
rough with disease.
White flowers
tickled by
yellow prongs,
reach out lightly towards
the passing wind.
Slashed by growth,
young bark clings itself
against sapwood
while bruised cherries
ring like church bells
settled in a belfry
of reckless stems.
But knots are just
birthmarks painting skin
and melting flesh
like a jasmine candle would.
White flowers are only
my palms and yours
after a long day
of learning to love
our bodies.
Stamen and stamen
interlace perfectly,
jealousy pooling into
a shallow pond
of many kingdoms.
The insects,
the birds,
all as one now.
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