V
Brushing aside the ancient
interchangeable usage with U
and claim as both vowel and consonant,
our finger sign for victory
crops up first,
yet, the V that overrides
our species’ wars on itself
is the vein that runs
through perennial generations
of migrant geese, pelicans and ducks
in flight formation,
calling the advance of winter
while they body surf
above the wingtip vortices
of the bird ahead,
wings in opposite synchrony,
each leader dropping back to recover
as another gains a turn
at rowing into virgin air,
to reduce drag, increase range,
to pull and guide
their multi-being convoy
from one seasonal home to another,
taking the whole globe for granted.
Vanishing Act
We live in a house
that infiltrates a forest;
beyond our time,
its wood, metal, stone will
return to stone, metal, wood;
cougar and oak and humus
will march over, reclaim;
trees will top
with nests of squirrels,
silly lawn will elevate into
dens of fox and bear surveyed
by hawks and turkey vultures
lifting life, and our small
scent may last a while
but, eventually will be
forgiven and forgotten.
Tree Talk
Until now, in whimsy I’ve always seen
and heard branches as reaching out,
as swaying to express joy they could not
contain, answering winds, rain and light
with ballads and serenades, but those
who study trees at the growth rate of trees,
dendrologists, find that trees talk with
each other through roots
among fungal networks
that hunt down minerals,
send out chemical and hormonal signals,
paid with 30% of the tree’s sugar,
warning of traumas, giving out advice
for good health, and more, like
keeping stumps alive in the network
for hundreds of years, and nibbled leaves
emitting ethylene gas to set off tannins
in other trees, driving away browsers—
chatting up the neighborhood,
lines of communication always open.
return to poetry home