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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