The Language of Trees

 

 

Somebody asked me,

“What do you fear?”

The answer was very clear.

I responded I am afraid of boxes,

prisons of the mind

to prevent the sunlight from seeping in.

Boxes,

 like wells

where your legs caper to the music

somebody selected for you.

 

 

Boxes attached to labels and recipes,

sealed by experts,

delivered ready-made,

pretending they are made of iron

to resist the rain.

 

Boxes that refuse to understand the language of the trees.