#289: February 6, 2007

The trees were swaying out there in the dusk
between the bright blue afternoon and me,
that leaf-wind noise, that green pine-needle sea
that rose and fell in waves of forest musk;

And I was thinking things can't be as hard
as this, not when these voices in the air
give promise of what secrets they can share,
not when the breeze has beaten down its guard;

The very breast of nature so exposed,
it heaved as though under a lover's touch,
enough to make me stretch out this bare hand
to put aside the veil, strip off her clothes,
and like a lover start to understand
these mysteries I'd never known as such.