THE GREEN MAN

Trees are so certain,
implacable, even when fallen,
each one a manifesto
proposing stillness around

a slow heart. Philosophers
out of the earth,
they breathe into
the secret sky.

Where they reach
with ease and grace
and find, I reach
to the sinew’s length

and dream. To be
straight and unencumbered,
carrying the shifting cargo
high, neither offering

nor withholding; to lodge
song and let it go;
to save in green
and spend in gold;

to observe impassive like Hydra
from a thousand faces,
each one bearded, lidded,
rimmed in leaves.

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