The Quaking Aspen

Outside, just outside

If S-F- had a breezeway or a vestibule

This quaking aspen would be in it

Far enough away still To forget that

the voices all around

Are so old here

While (A)rtistic less (a)rtistic

Fact almost an Artist Capitol

Still the winter weight blanket

Of experiences and of days

And of cups of ylang ylang tea

On the hottest days and coolest evenings

Squat on you in the stores

And Coffee shops (not cafés)

And on the sidewalks everywhere

Gravity for the gravity of the grave

Science promises and swears to us

With elevation we

Should feel heavier

Except

Except

As we rise

We are leavened

Above the age

Above the experience

And into the blood of Christ

There inside the holy

Is where I found my reward

Aspens are unique

In dendrology and beyond

A copse

Of silver spectres

Jingling their sleighs

Begging for change

In tambourines

They rattle rattle

In unison

Yes from one wind

But also from one root

(L)ike us but not (l)ike us

They are one being

Not similar not twins

Paternal or fraternal

They are one

We do not have time

To see and hear

To feel and taste and touch

All that is above the loam

Perhaps we should be forgiven

For thinking they are, like us

Each unique

The quaking Aspen

The quavering Aspen

The fallen rotted Aspen

All one

All one Aspen

Conjoined and consigned

Below

Bellow

Blow

A tree in a forest

On a hill

In the wind

Gets it all wrong

A tree is a forest

A hill is a tree

A wind is nothing

If not for the tree

That is a forest on a hill

In S-F-