The Bare Arms of Trees by By John Tagliabue
For some reason it sounds windy outside from where I’m sitting (at my desk in my bedroom). When I look outside it doesn’t seem windy. Regardless, I thought I’d post this poem today.
The Bare Arms of Trees
By John Tagliabue
Sometimes when I see the bare arms of trees in the evening
I think of men who have died without love,
Of desolation and space between branch and branch,
I think of immovable whiteness and lean coldness and fear
And the terrible longing between people stretched apart as these
branches
And the cold space between.
I think of the vastness and the courage between this step and that step
Of the yearning and the fear of the meeting, of the terrible desire
held apart.
I think of the ocean of longing that moves between land and land
And between people, the space and ocean.
The bare arms of the trees are immovable, without the play of
leaves, without the sound of wind;
I think of the unseen love and the unknown thoughts that exist
between tree and tree,
As I pass these things in the evening, as I walk.
