What if when we grow old
we rotted the way fruit does?
What if, as we crinkle in on ourselves,
we earn soft spots
where the mold has eaten us away?
We are plucked from our trees so young,
but we are ripe for so long.

What if when we rot
someone larger and grander
who can fit us in their hand
smiles as they throw us into the woods?
We hit trees and gain triumphant cheers.
We befriend the leaves
and we rot together.

What if when we grow old
we grew new life?
What if, as we crease and hunch,
we grow down and down
until we are rooted in place?
And we can be tall again
and beautiful.

Above the silhouettes of pines,
with needled edges blown and wild
Heroes collide!
Virgins and damsels are frozen in stride
Together by inches they turn in the sky

And brilliant the moon in her loftiest place
Diana's face aloft in space - and under her eye,
mahogany tables set out in the night,
wearing her light

Draped in her rays are the myriad faces,
Strangers in pairs and amid conversations
In gestures and signs and in whispers and mimes
Their stories take flight - I'm enthralled by their
tales uttered into the night

Here where the pines are as tall as the sky
Where the moon will forget all our faces
If I had their ear or if I had their graces
I would share in their solemn and secretive phrases

Through gaps in the trees I can see Dublin's pier
The Poolbeg stacks are surprisingly clear
Striped and remote, their billowing clouds
are a silvery choke

Here where the roads aren't routes that I know
They are comforting so and offer some bearing
I am followed on high by that pairing

Towers over buildings, towers over pines
Those two yonder towers are the most
on my mind

Here where the leaves are dramatically red,
quietly falling and littering bends
Here where the birches are a heavenly white,
those two yonder towers are the most on my mind

No rest till I'm dwarfed by those towering twins
No rest till I'm flush with the deafening drink
There a horizon and sparingly strewn,
with buoys and boats; sitting strange in the gloom

Trees cry deep within
We-unable to hear the sound
Barely brushing a leaf
Knowing it responds happily
Exchanging breaths
Forcefully accepting the water
It was given from above
Pulling it in so it can survive
Even a few drops it cherishes
Roots go deeper than you can see
Protecting feeding beauty breathing
It does it for you
It does it for me

I swear a good deal more when in the city
my wife observes as we two wend our way
along the street. The towers are kind of pretty:
walls of glass, yet blocking out the day
so down here on the sidewalk dreary shadows
are damp reminders of how far we've come
from towering trees, from open mossy meadows,
from ravens swishing by. Look, here's a slum
a block or two from banking towers and glamour.
I should not fault the place. Variety
is the spice, they say. But such a clamor
of humans challenged by sobriety!
Life here was once quite good to me, but now
I'm just a rustic, pining for his plow.

Leaves in Orange and yellow,
Lie in the ground below,
The tree stands tall,
Lost are the birds , all
Fly away to fight ,
With all their might,
The breeze blows away,
The leaves, tress and birds astray.