I watch the world
ripple

on his arm
ink sunk into his skin

the U.N. tattoo
flexing to each exertion

crisp curls of wood
releasing their scent

pine flooding
the moment

that will forever be
1963

a ray of sunshine
opening a trapdoor

into the summer
air

a dimension or two
away

dust motes dancing
like overweight atoms

sawdust balancing
like pollen on his hair

as he sings
to the naked wood

"I think that I will
never see

a poem as lovely as
a tree..."

Of such a moment is
love made

the plane whispering
its secrets to the wood

the spirit level
winking its bubble.