based on “Trees” by W. S. Merwin

arms outstretched
without opinion or judgement
whatever sphere there is
after this dimensional
what will I regret
other than those unacknowledged
conspirators their pooled
shadows waded in by those
who never look
up or
consider the paper’d skin
calloused muscles shouldering
without the tongue
of tree are their names
more significant that the scar
of a falling star that fists
its way across my dreams
I sleep in a green cradle
while the trees
pass me on
to the next
exclaiming over my beauty
pliant and forgiving