Tag Archives: trees

WATER

                                    Around here all the gods live in trees.

                                                – Jim Harrison (“The Whisper”)

 

It’s been tough on the woodpeckers: dry year,

no acorns in the oaks, yet

they still flap and squabble over bugs in the bark.

 

I can’t see the owls in the dark of dawn

as I wait for the black to disappear, yet

their mournful presence is good company.

 

Robbin likes the flock of little bushtits

flitting tree to tree, or washing-up at six o’clock

when the timer sprays the Mexican Sage.

 

Above it all, they’re smarter than the rest of us

to fly where they want—or most needed.

But around here we irrigate the trees.

CYCLES AND ORBITS

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We float like leaves—
moments balanced
between extremes
we haven’t seen—
for small epiphanies:

                         the intersections
                         of imperfect circles,
                         elliptical orbits
                         of other planes
                         and gravities.

Season to season,
we float like leaves
as fodder for the earth
returning to the roots
and the skeletons of trees.

 

WHEN WORDS ARE DONE

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                                                                                     the world
                                                  lives in the death of speech
                                                  and sings there.

                                                       – Wendell Berry (“The Silence”)

 

We name landmarks on maps in our minds
so we can go there. Some to detail feeling
with art reaching-out to all humanity
searching for that common hearthstone

beyond man’s hackneyed adjectives
and political objectives. We press names
into place with indelible ink hoping
to get lost in the map’s open space

to touch the unnamable and soar
with the song. Those elusive, musical
fragments, those glimpses in trees, but
all we have when words are done.