Once, I Danced with Trees
planted in a meadow. I was often
dancing in those days, the body
seeking relief for its rhythms, wanting
a larger stage, itself called into nature.
It was snowing and the world held
an illusion of softness. Flake
and drift, branches dipping
delicately in balance, the tension
always about to release.
And when the tension did break
it showered down a cold
and brilliant baptism.
Perhaps I’m still dancing out there,
some ghost of the self-past.
Not that those days were necessarily
joyous, but the trees did not judge.
Once, I Danced with Trees
