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
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,
finally . . .
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