Queen of Co(r)pse

She is Queen of Copse,
A quiescent land of leapers
Lying in limbo of light, subdued,
With coarse cracklings of life
That linger to slack, and slender
Of side-branches swaying, on shoulder –
The head-weight of canopies; crowns
Communicate by leads of lianes;
A trellis of tresses
Trapping in arbour the song, of cicadas
With hums of tree-houses, hollowed
By hammer, the woodpecker’s home
That holds, more honour by craft
Than aphid, whose silent steal of sap
Had stifled soil and soul of lumber
That left lordosis, locked in lumbago –
The season of sawdust and severed thrones.