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

Iím as eager as a boy between the girl legs, the bloodís 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 farmersí 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 California wineries Ė

One of the trees falls, or so Iíve 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

Donít want to blow down on me, except when they blow down on me.

 

††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† ††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† -C. Ketcham