In The Temple of Trees
Limbs full open
green sweeping
composer arms—
where wind-fresh music is shaped.
Looking up: Fill me in. I’m blank notes. Here! Breathing,
the Temple ceiling sees my smallness. Reminds me
about down first. Solid
cherry, chestnut oak, burr oak roots
unshakable feet in clay—
the Sanctuary floor
where music is born.
8 thoughts on "In The Temple of Trees"
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I love this poem.
Coleman, thank you, your feeling it gives me a boost.
I love – green sweeping composer arms. Very nice!
Yay! Fun to celebrate summer, thank you, Victoria.
This is soaring and wispy. It really works. Very good job.
Soaring and wispy, Linda! Love that. You should write something with these words. I’ll read it!
🙏
I can hear the music of the trees – love “composer arms” and “unshakeable feet in clay”! Lovely.
Gratitude, Sylvia, for your comments! This is fun.