To an Oak

Johnathan Zheng

If I love you –
I’ll never resemble a trumpet vine,
borrowing your branches to flaunt myself;
 
If I love you –
I’ll never imitate a lovebird,
repeating songs for cool shade;
 
and more than a wellspring,
providing solace year-round;
and more than a mountain peak,
lifting your outlines, proclaiming your majesty;
even sunlight
even spring showers;
no, these are not enough!
 
I have to be a kapok tree by your side,
standing with you, vivid.
Roots, clasp firmly underneath;
Leaves, touch the clouds together.
With every passing gust of wind,
we nod to each other,
and no one
can catch what we are saying.
 
You, with your copper branches and iron trunk
like knives, swords, and halberds.
I, with my red-hot flowers
like heavy sighs,
gallant beacons.
 
We share the burden of cold, thunder, and lightning.
We share the joy of fog, mist, and sun rays.
Forever seeming separate,
yet harmonious. Root-bound.
 
This is the greatest love of all,
faithful throughout:
Love –
I love not only your steadfast stature,
but also your enduring state. 
The land beneath you.