Trees

barter with us breath.
anchor heaven.
elevate Earth.
hold soil in hands
as eloquent as sign language poets.
transubstantiate particles
of sunlight.
welcome winged migrants
without papers, process, status.
cradled Jesus
in a shared embrace of pain,
having died with him
on a hill once thick with forest.
speak in scent.
text in fungi.
laugh in pollen
and seldom stray
from meditation.
wait and shade
and crack
when sorrow is too much to bear.
teach and feed
and wink
when wind tells jokes
through their tittering leaves.
are saints.
are martyrs.
are lightning rods
telling stories through scars
and rings
of exquisite calculus.
are mystics—
just look up
the word
in your fattest dictionary
and you’ll find
its full meaning
printed on their flesh.

This article appears in March 2024.