Dryad

I have declared this Linden to be holy,
that I continue to see as a woman.
Far enough away there's but little difference:
The trunk is the body, the clothes leaves,
and above all the golden hair is the blossoms.

If the right moment might be spared
from change, then I could see
how she emerged out of her effigy
and make a photograph of this to save.

A motion picture could be made, the process
would be manageable, I could give self-willed
the intended phase so much wide screen

that she would spontaneously outlive the tree,
having escaped appearance and herself partaking,
out of the blind breach walking to meet me.