Apollo Becoming Daphne

The tree still panted in th’ unfinish’d part:
Not wholly vegetive, and heav’d her heart.

boughs of my
quick maple
planted the day Wellstone died

arborist showed me
a stem-girdling root
but I never cut it

a big up-curving branch
black streak running down it
pan mark on a bratwurst

I could climb up to it
even as I am
discarding my blue terrycloth bathrobe

I could lie along its length
toes curled around
a perpendicular twig

silver bark
on the backs of my legs
groin hair a tuft of leaves

heart beating up there poor tree
even now he
won't leave you alone