Patience, in peaceful protest against
the meanness of time, and with the ground
that cringes underneath their roots, the
rumble and creak of a weary world.
Patient with the roar of civilization
they swallow to save us from ourselves,
and once absorbed it is muffled, hushed,
and then recycled as wise old growth.
Patient with me—with the shuttering of
my camera lens, with the clamber of
a small strange being who moves too fast
in general fear of turbulent times.
Some call this ring of trees a cathedral.
I envision a temple, and what’s
sacred is the absolute trust, where
I can imagine that if I fall and
the ground rises up to meet my face,
the trees will catch me and hold me aloft,
with patience, beyond the towers of time.
