The Hug I Want to Never End
Maren O. Mitchell

As the forty-foot-high cedar
            stands greenly by our house,
      year upon year,

at home in the universe
            on our revolving planet
      circling the fire,

implacably synchronized,
            fronds expanding in new perfume,
       offering depths of cool in heat,

cutting cold command of winds,
            torrents of clouds,
      surety of lightening,

beginning far below the grass,
           quivering through quartz
      and other lives,

swaying skyward
            calling weary ones
      to shelter from fight—
                      so you are to me.

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