Tree With No Wind

For years I hauled up the memory moons in my fishing baskets

To the winds I sang out Chilito humma nakni, nakni! and was alone.

Now I am moon-lit.

I have two hands, I can plant two trees.

One silent, the other singing.

Both, moon-lit.


Green bounty of golden thrumming warm.

My heart grows old and free.

My sighs under starry summer, the blue night sways & swarms

Comets dip themselves in lazy honey.



I paint my arms August cornfield and October blue.

The bones in my hands are native, my steps are soundless as a disc of snow.

A sun blacked face with a Gaelic glimmer.

Two sun-salt shoulders are oceanic.



My animal throat, this indigo pulse is moon-lit.

Walk beside me and feel the dry shift in autumn,

two willows praying for mercy.

This tall Earth, my geologic home.

Every whispering leaf that turned,

I recall this world, so moon-lit.