From the Trees Witness Everything

Distance Morning

Another morning.
The trees always look the same.
I am different. Each day,
I am greedier.
How do trees refuse evening?

That Music

Once, I fell in love
with the music, not the man.
When the music played,
my heart moved like paper boats.
When it stopped, I was eighty.

In a Clearing

My whole life, I thought
to mourn leaves falling. Now I
marvel at all the splitting.

To the Hand

Someone is turning
the earth with wrenches, each turn
a bit closer to the end.
The earth is warmer.
The crickets are still singing,
rehearsing for the last day.

Tool

We make tools to fix
everything-hammers, nails, wires
that we twist to hold
down or bend into beauty.
We make a small tree
into the shape we want,
to be slanted, silent.
The wire on my wrists cut in,
I take the shape of desire.

Victoria Chang