I stand alone, counting time
wrapped in the kiss of fog
sensing but not seeing
others of my kind
waiting, shouldered, upright
at the edges of this pasture

I dream in solitude, aching
for the touch of other roots
however faint, to feel
earth’s water flow to
reaching deep dug tendrils
of my kindred in the woods

I dance in secret, moving
with prevailing winds
my branching shape their echo
but in summer dark or autumn mist
the sounds of crickets, calls of flying geese
lend their beat to summon ecstasy
as I sway until the dawn

_____________________________________
The tree in this photo seemed to move in place.
Photograph by Jon Katz, copyright © 2014,
used with permission.