I am listening to these trees.
They know a few things. They speak
in breeze, and they have wisdom
to impart. See all that
blue? They’ve seen it, too, for years.
They’ve wrangled tears from sky
and sent them down this hill
to spill into indigo center. I know
I’m just a renter of this skin, but
there are things I’d like to know,
quiet gifts I’d like to be given.
If I wait here long enough, breath
held, eyes closed, they might whisp
-er what I seek. If I stay still and
small and bid them all good morning,
these pine magi might just set