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 . . .