The Singing Tree (2004)

She said the ocean, she was sure
We retraced our steps down the rocky cliff
Stars staring down pinpricks into my head
The human condition, she said
The fog obscured my frantic blundering
World whirling in the rain at the top of the tree
We sang a wordless melody
The air sang back to us
She said the ocean, but I was sure the tree
Dug roots into our hearts

Photosynthesis

Sometimes I have climbed a tree
All the way to the top
And pressed my body into the trunk
Until I didn’t know where I ended
And the tree began

I’ve never liked the feel of sun on my skin
But on top of the tree it’s different
Because on the tree my skin gives way to leaves
And the sun means food to them

It’s a popular thing to say these days
That if a person is different enough from you
You’ll never understand them from the inside

But photosynthesis has taught me that’s wrong
Because I feel what it’s like
To get food from the sun
And to follow that sunlight the whole day long

My skin becomes bark
My bones become wood
My hair becomes leaves
My feet become roots
And rather than hating the sun on my skin
It sings me a food song
A life song
A love song
A light song

And if I can resonate with a tree
To photosynthesize as if I have leaves
Then surely I can resonate with
A member of my species
Who’s different from me
Even if they tell me
It can’t be done

Exile’s Lullaby

I can feel the ground wet, soft, and squishy
With a rotting log beneath my head
Where the mushrooms and mycelium
Trace lines on the ancient bark
Young trees far older than I am
Grow straight from the rotting log
And I sink in deep in the blue twilight
And I rest my weary bones

And how weary human bones can get
When we move them all the time
They ache as deep as an ache can go
Till there’s no climbing, not another step

And that’s when I sink into the soil
As the nurse log cradles my head
And I will myself to become the dirt
So I can feel the redwood sorrel
Pushing one by one, towards the sun
In groups too big to count
There’s no ache so deep it can’t be helped
By becoming the dirt for awhile

I’d never have chosen exile
If there’d been another way
I’d never have chosen exile
If there’d been a way to stay

But if I close my eyes
And curl on my side
I could almost swear I’m there
And that has to be enough for a lullaby

Twilight blue is always how I see the sky
With an amethyst glow around the redwood bark
And owls you hear but never see
And mushrooms and slime molds that live inside
Logs so big you can stand up inside them and
Redwood needles and cones carpeting the ground

And that’s where I want to lie down
And that’s where I want to blend into the ground
And it’s where I want to feel every plant
Growing inside me and seeking the sun
And the rain and the mist creeping into the leaves
And mold and slugs, things that live in the damp
And all the things that say life goes on
No matter how much is lost
These things make me who I am

And maybe they’ll make me sleep tonight
Despite the ache in my bones
And the ache of exile
Maybe it’s enough of a lullaby for one night

A Poem About Realness (1999)

In the center of the wood in tangled gnarling knots I sit
In every part of every tree I grow the waiting path
The light that filters through the trees reflecting colors dark and deep
The stars that glimmer through the leaves reflect me just the same

The roots that travel searching deep and ancient through the darkened soil
The smell of earth that tells you more than any sight can say
The deepened grooves inside the bark that guide you winding wondering
The stillness deepness permeates and holds within the path

The moss is dangling from the outer branches of the tallest trees
The higher branches reaching leaves and needles to the sun
The warmth and cool unearthened sound that makes the forest what it is
The paths they take all from one place which in all paths begun

I sing the song that comes from there and blends and sharpens in the trees
That changes still and stays the same and shines in forest light
That twists and turns and follows flying endless into from the path
Where travelers and wanderers may in the end find me

A wanderer might find the path in smallest roots and gnarling trees
The spaces in between the trees might show the path as well
The forest and the stars will show emerging patterns still the same
And if the forest brings you fear, then you have not found me

The ancient stillness of the wood reflected from and through my world
For at the center lies the path and in the path is me
However wild the wind may blow the movement of my path remains
For if you fear the forest’s edge then you have not found me