It was the kind of conference
that includes a wandering-about slot.
So I went out into the still grey afternoon
along the gravel path. Only a short way,
leaving for another day the lake, the lawns,
the neatly-mown labyrinth, the smiling statue.
I was to stand beneath the huge copper beech,
my back against the smooth bark, my feet on the roots
like a child being walked on Daddy's feet...
I'd have liked to press myself into the trunk
until it allowed me in, down through phloem, cambium,
sapwood, to the heartwood. I wanted to be papery
and vacant like a drifted leaf.
I'd have liked the roots to tug me down
under the soil, where the hyphae
could wind around my body and turn me
into nutrients. Nothing happened. There was no wind.
The canopy embraced a vast volume of quiet air,
branches swept low on all sides. Half-hidden,
I clung and cried out
silently to be forgiven. Though I've persisted
in my vandalism long after I understood
what I was doing wrong, though nothing changed,
I sensed the tree
on behalf of all life
gravely allow my apology.
Stevie Krayer
(Published in ARTEMISpoetry magazine, November 2022)