Second Day at Indralaya, Orcas Island

I lie on a worn bench under
a hundred-year-old apple tree
bursting with blossoms, mad with bees.
“Hurry,” the tree says to the sun,
“Caress me, enter me, fill me
with sweetness. I am gnarled,
I am mossy, lichen clings to me
and I have little time left,
but oh yes, these blossoms
once more, oh yes, your touch.”