The trees hold up their leaves for me,
Teaching the reach out to bees and light,
Showing my head how to nod, shoulders
To sway, finger to rise to a point.
The leaves that glitter like the sun
Wave unspoken honor
In a wind turned visible by birds
As if the field went on forever
And the branches didn't tangle
In the contours of the logic
That moved from to to fro, in circles,
Grasses lifting thought.
The force the boughs withstand
Is neither turbulence nor anger,
But their own openness to shock,
How they'll follow the unknown.
Flowers edged like butterflies
And vibrant as the bees
Share ambrosial happiness
Ever conscious of the source
Circling round a center that is nowhere,
As if air currents that decide
The shadow's letters, green leaf gestures,
The yielding from positions
Are not anything one could call ... meaning,
And yet they mean, the speech of spring,
Unbroken and unknowable, as the wind, if risen
Slightly, would take our voices in its sound.
