Melancholy in the trees

Oh! Brian! Look at the trees!

©Michael Kenna

Bent-knuckled, these three 
witches meet again: Eye of 
newt to globular earth/ turned 
by their rooting/ mixing to 
matter/ owned by labour until/
planted/ it shakes into being. 
Consumptive trees -
limbed into lungs/ veined across
blue/ cracked by their reaching. 
Tubular trees/ bubbling from 
their bark/ rounding at their hurts/ 
knotted and tight: the tree has 
entered my hands/ reaching through 
time/ eyes turn to histories/ mouthless
but for the ring of bark around it. 

Oh! Brian! Look at the trees: Sad things, 
toiled and troubled bodies set in motion,
and not. Could I/would I/would you see
a body, flesh-bound, set against this sky,
now clouded? It is an act of bravery, is it not? 
Oh Brian! I can't look at their many-eyed weaping, 
sap has mounted my arms and I feel their salt—
Brian chopped off a limb and waves it in the blue.

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Work in progress poem. Took a break from Substack: writing slower poetry so need more time. Though I am sure you don’t mind, thank you to my subscribers for your patience. I am sure you are not surprised that the first poem back is about trees. Nice to be back, I hope you are all doing ok.