some trees, standing in groves
have people inside them holding
meetings,
some trees have people locked
and braced in love.
a pine tree is a gigolo-
notice the scent-always the best
mouthwash,
the best sheen of green shirt,
the tallest, straightest back,
the gentlest arms.
and do not even speak of oaks.
they know the game, get better
and better and better at it .
they are the rugged type, born rough
and with no tender shoots.
they stand alone, majestic, and
are of the order of warriors.
a weeping willow minces.
it draws mantles about itself
and takes small steps, ever
looking into bodies of water
Narcissus-like, to preen
for itself and no other.
it weeps, droops, wilts, and hangs
with limp branches and
leans over the shoulders of
timid types
birches are adolescent boys,
standing taller than their heights
suggest, in groups, boasting and
leaning from the hips like cowboys.
skin breaking out in spots,
set rest-looking on sharp terrain,
not complete in form or
individuality, in mode not plain.
maples are pregnant, the Madonna trees
sugary motherhood enough
splash with quick, self denigrating leaves
which are russet and reticent.
against the enthusiastic and the rough
they stand, making nutriment.
some trees are courtesans, some
whores, some priest and nuns.
but more are men:
statesmen, sentries, chiefs
granduncles, foremen and lovers.
There are people in them.
From time out of record,
Memory, or mind…..
