Poem- The World of Things

I’ll admit

I’ve never believed much in the human endeavor,

but have striven

to find my place

in the world of things.  Fleeting,

full of folly and joy,

our living evaporates like bird call,

            beautiful and unintelligible—

the mind breaks against the skull

            until the tide rises,

and we learn to touch each other with the reverence

we’ve kept hidden

for roses tilted forward to the nose

or furrows opened for planting.  So I’ve got nothing against

the joys of touching,

gentleness, or the urge to be fair,

but I can think of no better compliment

than to be kissed by a tree.