The Straightness of Trees (Spines,
Windmills)
What
force bids them straight up like that?
The un-gravity
Of
their roots, they mix the sky in November storms
I’m
as eager as a boy between the girl legs, the blood’s pounding
in my ears
The
jacks who climb to spit the lumber arms to earth, the wine-mouthed
Wives
at the door peddling rust and farmers’ tears
Say
that the trees are running out of time, they have to be cut,
the force drives them up for our benefit
we
eat the air, suck the leaf, manage the vine, pornograph
the stalk
murmur
genius and beloved to
One
of the trees falls, or so I’ve heard, and when it falls
the rest rocket higher
From
the rot the fallen bestows what no man knows of these eras ending
Wood
towers built for worms
Estimates
are that hiking tin-eyed satchel-carrying dudes like myself
Know
that all the winds that blow down trees
Don’t
want to blow down on me, except when they blow down on me.
-C.
Ketcham