Strange Trees

what

extreme

solitude as

we listen to

the deepening

quiet of the very

trees themselves

talk in corrugated

sunlight voices that

leaves stitch maybe

I am mad for the voices

and oozing saps beckon me

from the silence of the park

bench urging me to walk on

fields of water where the

rising river touches fossil

logs shifting back to a

time where trees

sung before

metals or

money

for I

hear

voices

hum

from

growth

rings of

ancients

as I follow

a summer sun

until it arched over

continents and seas as I

stared until she turned her eyes away