Heart ( and ) Hearted

Distance and time pull;
like limbs from dying trees, like
weaving streams, like seams.

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Heart ( and ) Hearted

In the Country

At night, in the country, I can hear the trees but I can’t see them. I hear their leaves rustle beneath them, within them, on sidewalks and porches and under my feet. I hear their arms scratching itches on the houses they neighbor. I can hear them creaking and cracking their backs, stretching and talking to each other. There is a community of trees and they communicate while we’re asleep, while everything else is quiet. Their prose is indistinguishable to us from noise, but at night, when its too dark to see them all, they’re together in a beautiful, harmonious way. Their conversation is harmony. At night, they are a symphony.

In the Country