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I found this in the spring issue of On Earth, NRDC's magazine.
The Scented Birch Near the Fountain Where You Walk
by Sarah M. Brownsberger
The sweet wood, the silk wood, the smooth-barked birch
That crouched all winter, arms slung in the soil,
Braced for darkness, mandibles, sawing ice,
Now rises naked, streaked and radiant,
Shaking off catkins on a wide skirt of moss,
To wave lemonleaf from blown fingertips,
To slip ribbons here and there around you as you walk
Frayed, splayed bouquet of daylit skin, a spray
Of singing on a wand of bubbling sap.
The Scented Birch Near the Fountain Where You Walk
by Sarah M. Brownsberger
The sweet wood, the silk wood, the smooth-barked birch
That crouched all winter, arms slung in the soil,
Braced for darkness, mandibles, sawing ice,
Now rises naked, streaked and radiant,
Shaking off catkins on a wide skirt of moss,
To wave lemonleaf from blown fingertips,
To slip ribbons here and there around you as you walk
Frayed, splayed bouquet of daylit skin, a spray
Of singing on a wand of bubbling sap.
