Dream of Trees
I dream of trees, most nights,
Branches like antlers and twigs like knives,
Sharp and silver in the starlight;
Bowing and beckoning,
Creaking and calling:
Remember when you ran to us?
When soft darkness was your safety,
Untethered by light and sound and rage?
Remember hoof prints in the tar-black mud?
It was then that we watched you.
With eyes like knots in withered trunks,
And breath like barn owl's flight;
With compassion of centuries
And indifference of decay,
It was then that we watched you.
In the illusion of alone,
The shifting synesthesia of self -
Between the horns, beneath the moon,
A dream of being alive.
It is now that we watch you.
The path grown over,
The bracken thick and tearing,
Clawing, grasping, needing –
The way across is through.
Be brave, little one,
We wait for you.