When I die, please bring me back as a tree

Only then will I have the wisdom I need to endure this world.

hardly are those words out

when I remember the grace and intelligence
of trees -- how they bend and sigh in
every flavor of wind,

their persistence in all weather,
their silent wisdom, waiting through
generations of human invention

(if that is to be their story)
or for their end in fire, flood, amputation,
bug infestation --

how they retreat inward with November
behind dark, mossy bark,
hiding their lives deep in roots

clutching frozen mud, or shake
shawls of snow from evergreen branches,
letting peckers and squirrels and robins

nestle in their leaves and needles --
how they breathe in our poisons with
detached compassion,

exhaling a healing oxygen --
how they never complain or attack,
and just convert their suffering into love.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *