Hugging a tree
As big round as a house
Is not me hugging the tree

I just lean with my arms outstretched
The tree notices me
Whispers its bending winds into me

Then draws me in
By some green gravity
 
Embraces my body
And hundreds of feet
Away at the top

Knows me
Down to its roots
Knows me

Not as human

Knows me as
Organism who lives in a wooden house but says he does not want to cut
Or
Organism who complicates

And then names me thus

I imagine that I name Sequoia
Or
Cathedral
Or
God
Or
Cancer

I strain to think deeply

For thousands of years
Sequoia suffers two footed short-lived fools
Among rock, earth, wind, fire and fern

Growing old

POET'S MOUTH

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