These Rescue Trees

North of me are rescue trees with tresses

Glanced upon away from childfast morning

Small as sacrifice less arranged than

Cautious minnow birds singling out

A melody lobbed across green branches

I need the energy I learn from trees

They are angels they are often warm

We leisure our way to a game of hurt and seek

Repair the mirror made of flesh

Stretch time greedily we do not know

How much we own for now or will

All I want is echo sound of rock canyons

Speaking fear in parables while birds

Resemble thinking if only

We are calm enough to read their sound

Like the warble of a secret in the throat

Of the old choir woman who drew breath

From each voice trained in finding

Rests embedded in the usual harmony

And released the intervals to chance

What music dusts lush green and tips of trees

Will be remembered as composed 

In earnest and addictive peacetime

A potion swallowed all at once 

In line with the cool majesty of finches in threes