A Slap Sapling Poem by Liam ó Comáin

In a slap
A solitary sapling
Small sparse
Its branches vertical
To the clouds
A few horizontal

Minute buds evolving
Towards openness
A heart openness
Free and unforced
Unlike the opening
After Gethsemane

Beyond its form
Spring ploughed fields
Draught the shower
Of a northern wind
Impregnating the brown
Earth's womb

The land's life
Is in the sapling
All is one
(God is a God man)
The sapling's a cross
Shadowed in the mist
Of water droplets