At the Park

Liza Rose

there was a sound all around like breathing– 

no, not breathing something after the wild 

breath of wind through green green leaves the 

trees’ susurration sounded like something  

no, not like something i could name if I 

had to  

i’d say it was like a mouth  

so near the ear that it feels like warm water or 

maybe like dust  

or cold sunlight  

goose pimples prickling the neck at the closeness

of breath and i breathed  

with the trees who were not breathing at all 

and their breathing sounded  

like nothing  

and everything