the maple with a double helix
of poison ivy succubi
its branches that are not its branches
just as naked now
the beech with a hidden hollow
hoarding meltwater
skinny stalks in the meadow
fern tangles reduced to ribs
winter makes it easy to see
and miss the missing
*
but trees can shine
in an icy blue depth of sky
and church bells from town
remind me it’s sunday
so i walk among ridgetop oaks
as if through a cathedral
who can resist a bit
of sabbath-day LARPing
to my usual seat
on a stack of flat rocks
cue a coyote trotting in
from the other direction
who stops 50 feet away
and gazes past me
flag of breath curling up
into the sunlight
and takes a few more steps
as i reach for my phone
a flash of sun from
the reflective case
and coyote is disappearing down-ridge
tail streaming behind
a lapse in faith
i instantly regret
my consumer’s impulse to capture
to have and to hold
whatever sacrament may exist
apart from the encounter itself
i think of those who will never
see a carnivore in the wild
or walk in a true forest
or visit the ocean
too poor or too much
in the middle of things
either way a poverty
that should appall us
*
i finish my tea
begin to feel a kind of warmth
a split in the heartwood
of an old black cherry tree
opens with a ratchety cry
wound like a sideways mouth
taking all
the wind’s calls
no room for piety in this hymnal
the earth has teeth
