There’s something about a mad tree
Or two amongst a logical forest, dense
With sensible foliage. The manic pleasantry
Speaks to me—a cackling branch; a fence-

Post, unhinged—magical at best;
At worst, inane. Alas, I digress—
Here, such wild kinship made
On a walk of happy accidents.

The Devil uprooted, beaten out of shade
‘Til nought but God is found in acquaintance
With delirium—a foggèd crusade
Against every wooden countenance.

I’ve half a mile before I reach my ends
And half a mind to retrace my steps.
But no—I’ll see you another time, my friends—
If not in this life then perhaps my next.

© Joseph Chin
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