In a squall

In a squall,
a sudden gust
along Commonside Ridge,
I rush to your oakside.
In that squall,
excited,
I see your leaves
bowling over the path.
Because of you
and the brushing squall
I remember joy.
I look up through
your browning tops
with their patterings
then down to where your stays
hold you fast.
In a squall,
I lean into your great girth.
You lean over me,
live pillar.
In that squall,
your slowsway is an
ocean liner coming
into the quayside,
slow shuddering,
lining up
to grind against something.
I fancy that I hear your heart
(unless it is mine)
beating out its
ancient reason.
I'd rather be crushed
by you than by
any mortal.
That would be
some kind of justice.