Know My Tree
A tree is a prayer without words, without reason, without apology. Yet
not without sound, I hear
a low whirr when I am close to a willow, I see the medicine of its
knowledge dance under dark
purple bark. I trace the lines of its hands to the ends of the limbs I
want to climb, watch
how leaves confetti in the breeze, an explosion of spring greens and
saffron
yellows against an afternoon indigo sky. I want
to rest, hang from my tail,
sleep and eat
like an animal.
I want to know
my animal. I want
to know my god.
I want to know
my tree.
I need to be
washed in a rain
of forest, cleansed
of my faults,
my failings,
my falsities.
All the moments
I could have
done better.
We are all
standing under
some tree,
of life, of death,
of transformation.
How thankless
I’ve been! I wish
to save a tree
to save myself
to save
the world.
I don’t know
where to start
so I will just
start with this
tree under a black
sky believing in the sun.
Telephone, April 2021