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Tonight I will climb the hill behind my house
to find the great dark cherry tree
and lean up against it's carbon trunk.
I will join the broken branches
pulling hard against the sky
Bend in blend skin
and mend the liquid stem
I'll make my poetry
balanced along the rough edge of life,
My back honed against the dry scrape of silence
Where The timber sits high in judgment on the slopes
watching the quick scarlet frantic lives below.
I will seep into the dark bark,
grow moss beneath my nail
and stand alone
on the open moon-lit ground
the wind streaming raw
through every knuckle, limb, and layer of skin.
Listen to these sheltered thoughts
It's a crazy moon in the sky
blown and brilliant,
cool in the crisp language of the trees.
I will sleep on Wet wings,
stand planted in the dark heavy night of the earth
while my brothers and sisters
cover the skies like the coarse hair of ancestral doom,
cleaning the night in countless groves
following the day in phototropic gyre.
I will sing with the solid ring
of an iron-bell branch.
I will sweat amber and bleed sugar
my toes pushing cuticle and numb,
cracking through rocks and dirt
piling a new layer of bark with each beat of my heart.
Ancient sentient cambric strain
standing palms to the sky
in audacious voice and speechless cry
born reborn each seed each stem
each pliant life awakened again.
Faded night shadows are blowing away
finding new branches with every
slow circuitous sweep.
The moon sips syllables through an open well of leaves
as I grow drunk and drowsy with the language of these trees. |