POETRY
Branches by Darrell Lindsey

Change slapped down on the counter,
the coffeehouse poets look back
at the bearded, old man asking for decaf.
The freckle-faced bard at the mic recognizes him,
tells the crowd of college students,
hippies, and two grandmothers
that Charlie is a haiku poet
who knows how to float from branch to branch,
even when there are no trees.
Charlie laughs at that assessment,
but is somehow pleased,too.
Pleased enough to take a notebook
covered with peace signs
out of his backpack
and perch himself on the stool
in the middle of the room.
He takes a deep breath,
releases it:

each branch
catching moonlight
together, alone