The three slender poplar trees
outside my window, almost joined
at the root, reminded me
of the three Graces in Botticelli's
"Allegory of Spring," even their fragile leaves
looking somehow like Renaissance hair.
So today when a stiff wind snapped
one of them in half, I wondered
if the other two would feel bereft,
as I did, debris of leaf and twig
burying their delicate feet.

Ridiculous of course. And anyway
it's the design I'll miss,
the way the three of them together
balanced the composition.
How could I know that Botticelli's Cupid
pointing his mischievous arrows
wasn't as dangerous as Zephyr —
fat cheeks blown out in windy fury?
That wind has reached across the canvas
in squalls and hurricanes, all the way
here to these Maryland hills