Ice Trees of the Pennyrile Forest

What Good Are Trees

 

What good are trees,

If I miss the heart that spun the seed,

That dreamed the dream,

That danced nuclear in first fiery moments,

Before colors collided on patterns woven in atomic autumns

And stardust stellar stadiums of wintry dawns-

 

When moons rose only on waters that stilled the night,

Reflecting the light that ended eras,

That moved the mountains,

Before the oceans swept canyons clean of crust

And prepared tables for grasses to grow?

 

What good are wings,

If wonder does not take flight,

In wild woods bearing the breath of winds,

That hang cloud soft in southern summers,

Where soaring birds draft

Towering tides of unseen waves

Riding currents, swirling in springs of hope,

Hidden in hills, that no one knows?

 

What good is hope

That shares nothing in conception,

And wonders without warm witness in cold stolen hours,

Longing in lonely moments, that come only once,

Heave hot and holy breath for seconds,

Then pass without planting or gathering

From the soil of life and the strength of tears

That know the awe of this moment’s birth.

 

J.H. Watkins 01-09

Done