THE RISING AND FALLING OF TREES
They rose up from the riverbank
bending their dark shapes over the water
like pillars that had been leaning too long
in the sun and wanted to rest.
And yes the river was lovely in its long
feline flowing over and around the river stones.
But the trees were splendid in their own right
shaking their beads, pasting glitter around their cheeks,
and oh how they fell, loosening their roots
swooning into the moving water,
which carried them on its back downstream,
their voices reverberating along the airways,
promising their lovers
before long they would return.
Soon he will leave,
a man with four suitcases
hurrying into the rain.
All that can be kept then
is the black belt of sadness
which you have earned
four times over.
This is the hardest lesson--
you must let go of what
you would hold too firmly.
Four times the bells ring,
loud at first--
and then softer,
the sound disappearing
above you in the wet, white pines.