The table is wooden with years of living
in its grain, begging questions about its
previous form and location.
Did it stand proud in the sun, or bending
on an exposed hill at the mercy of elements?
Does it resent its transformation?
Does it mourn its loss of changing its appearance
to match the season, its yearly budding?
Is it happy to be serviceable and sturdy?
Does it miss its lithe dancing to the wind’s
choreography, its winged visitors replaced
by coffee cups and the mundanity of human life?