Pleaching Each Trunk with Others

Grafting whippy stems of phrases
So that they look like unities
Made overtly complicated,

Nonsingular but connected,
A puzzle as to accident
As percentage of artistry

And the merits of artistry,
Given so many accidents.
A forest capable of dreams

Dreams of full inosculation,
Not of being whole but legions
Of unbroken interlinking,

All those roots and fungal species,
Sure, those too, always, but also,
Above ground, these word things, braiding.