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Listening the Trees to Sleep
Beyond our reciprocal breathing,
we need one another.
Their green tongues ring
ears into existence,
while each ear gives them
a second space to fill.
To touch and at once to be touched,
that's my version.
I don't know theirs.
The trees retreat inside themselves,
leaving me with my paper bag
frayed from the weight of pictures
and sticky notes and books.
Night comes. My limbs ache.
Locked inside our adjacent histories,
what can a thing do but lean against the wall
between itself and the rest?
Remorseless
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