The Trees, My God

maples hurling green-fletched samaras, 

the whole yard struck and waiting to rise forest, 

elms generous with their golden coins; lilacs 

wild over the windfall, foaming at the branch.

At thirteen my brother wore glasses 

for the first time and wondered at the trees—

hadn’t known you were meant to see midribs, 

toothed margins, the thousand leaves lapped

lobe over stem like the scales of some great beast.

Once my world was veinless, without heartbeat, 

the brain’s bad weather clouding my sight. 

When at last I found a drug to spell my grief,

I saw the stark grace of leaves unfurled

like hands outstretched in benediction. 

Praise the winged ears of catalpa, chestnuts serving 

whipped cream blossoms, sumacs strung like 

prayer beads. I count them now—my blessings, 

branch-borne and sailing to the earth: here, here, life.