Be Friends With The Trees

Keep the trees as your tall, close friends―

they are so quiet, all bent on growth

in love with oxygen,

you’ll never worry over broken oaths

or an unshared vision.

Do you want to find lively creatures

scurrying scared for refuge

among the cells of your body? Then remember,

keep the trees surrounding you in subterfuge

against this hell of human society

roaring forward from embers of holy panentheism.

Yes, we used to believe in piety

and surrender. 

We threw ourselves down on scabbed lowly knees

to worship nature, air, females, the unknowable

mysteries that dog atheism

rabidly subsumed with nomenclature, written histories

and everything that refuses fear or awe.

What is wordless is most true,

and this the trees will choose to speak

if you’ll hear. They sink roots in the ancient maw

of longing and shoot energetic mighty accusations

at the sun with silent fingers. Be friends

with the trees, close off your sight 

to our frenetic culture’s endless focus on fun and lose 

something, linger where it’s so boring

you think you’ll die. 

Become reliable, good and adoring

of plain green, brown, the wide open sky.

Be viable without being influenced;

when your personal photosynthesis occurs

you will notice a cosmic confluence and finally

you’ll stop talking,

and finally,

finally . . .

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