Thursday, July 14, 2022


At such times 
when the breezes 
are innocent and light 

and the angle 
and length of the shadows 
are just right, 

that's when 
the trees—

which consented 
to embed themselves 
here, it would seem

just safeguard your 
insignificant street—

seem to murmur 
on infinite repeat

their equal-parts sage 
and radical counsel. 

You can just make it out 
through the soft drone 
of leaves:

something about how 
you need 
to move more slowly—

or better yet, freeze 
and keep perfectly still—

if you ever hope to hold onto
(as they do) 
and vouchsafe all the memories 

of every mundane 
and incredible thing

which has ever happened to anyone 
or anything
in the vicinity

and repeat them all back to us
exactly like this—

in the dispassionate way 
that they happened.