Dedication of the Catalpa’s Third Transplanting by Matthew Robb Brown It will open its wings mid-June, white after those of chestnut and apple and thorn have done. It will lighten the days as springtime fades. Digging deep, I settled its ragged roots with buckets of water, shored its leaning stem straight. It has come to replace the Norway maple that split in a crash and pulled down wires, in a dripping, sodden mess. Outside our window it will fill the gap where leaves no longer lap and plash in the rain, where no stiff rise of wind can sound a strain. Its bent branches may, when grown, take twisted positions, draw an artist's eye. It will sing clear outside our window, drawing sparrows, cardinal pair, flicker and jay. It will roll its wheels of leaves, beat its hearts in threes along the stems, supple after the third transplanting due to man’s upheaval and construction. It's almost autumn now, but new sprouts cluster on the stem, eager, it appears, to get on with life. It will string inedible bean pods like deli sausages; It will sing and sway us to rest.