Chaplet

I.

A con­ver­sa­tion amongst trees

I can­not hear what they are say­ing, that young girl
and the tree. Their whis­pers are inti­mate , ceaseless.

I am sunk into a conifer hedge, tamped into a wall,
thread­ed into the blue ivy.

This is a warm chap­let against the rain,
And I would lie here if it was­n’t for the sky-

the sky will not skew to my vision,
body con­spires with green-leaf to thrust me forward.