Near to end of May.
  Day of the folding saw 
and razor sharp blade.
 
Small delicate scions
from far away chestnuts.
 
Twig-ends carefully peeled
  thin as paper
slipped under the pale green
 
blush of surgically perfect
sliced open cambium.
 
Scion: last years new branch
  older now, dry and overwinter 
cold.           
     
Graftings only require long
  liquid kisses, soft warm sap
in the slow rise of longer days.
 
It seems to be this way,
just as the lone Castanea 
   
can not be convinced to stay.
  You and I are like that, grafted 
well into a thriving thing.
 
We need that deep tap root.
An age and strength of something
  
established,very wooden,very old.
  Bound under it’s skin we are separate,
yet, to make a life, we are together.