The Singing Tree.

i.
The oak tree humming
outside my window casts its
oblique shadow on the waning horizon

with a sound that is movement,

a gestured noise
which distends the tree’s blackening sheath.

ii.
I hear the canopy’s
hushed tones
evolve into
the dark, elliptical
echo of night,

carried out by a tenebrous hunger that is never satisfied,

that appeals to dreamers and dances in hollow winds.

iii.
The music of leaves

bears the weight
of its ghostly boughs
as stars
reveal every
undulation
and whisper.

iv.
I collect my branching thoughts
and observations as the lull
pulses around me and,

without sight,
without fear of awareness,

hear a resonating vestige of growth survive through the pitch.