I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
~ Joyce Kilmer
When the white trees are no longer in sight
they are telling us something,
like the body that undresses
when someone is around,
like the woman who wants
to read what her nude curves
are trying to say,
of what it was to be together,
lips on lips
but it’s over now, the town
we once loved in, the maps
we once drew, the echoes that
once passed through us
as if they needed something we had.
~ Nathalie Handal
The Tree of Awe
How does part of the world leave the world?
How can wetness leave water?
Don’t try to put out a fire by throwing on
more fire. Don’t wash a wound with blood.
No matter how fast you run, your shadow
more than keeps up. Sometimes it’s in front.
Only full, overhead sun diminishes your shadow.
But that shadow has been serving you.
What hurts you blesses you.
Darkness is your candle.
Your boundaries are your quest.
I can explain this, but it would break the glass cover
on your heart, and there is no fixing that.
You must have shadow and light source both.
Listen, and lay your head under the tree of awe.
When from that tree, feathers and wings
sprout on your soul, be quieter than a dove.
Don’t open your mouth for even a cooooo.