Oak
I approach the oak
it is big as a whale
there are nails in the tree
stupid little harpoons
bent to blazes
I look at them
and approve
of their defeat
I feel the power
of caressing the dead
because there is love
but how to express it?
I have not found the words
not without clanging
like a bubble-gum buddha
running my hands
down the bark
the heaviness of the tree
takes the wind out of me
a century
all the crossroads
taken and cast away
condensed into a singularity
heaviness
on its way to dust
and I am that withering fossil too
and so we hold hands
what else can we do?
but other notes are already
in the air
“Nature” never sits quietly
for her portrait
up on the wooded ridge
a hawk in his prime
takes no notice of me
he calls out
and the power is so new
so fresh to him
his claws barely keep him
from losing his balance
where do I go
with this burst of life
while the summer turns
skeletons to ash
but to love again?