every damn thing.
trees, their lines,
the light that passes through them,
the light that does not.
do you know that at the base of a tree in the snow
a hollow melts away?
i considered this the other day,
the tree's heat.
i wanted to touch that tender and vulnerable spot
but i felt it was too intimate.
i was uninvited.
and too, what would i receive as such a taker?
i would receive less in the touching than in the consideration.
yesterday we passed an unassuming field of maple,
tapped,
buckets to their lips.
we stopped and i approached the fence.
it was like i was witnessing an orgy,
not sexual, but an intimate and slow giving.
alongside the field was a short squat sugar shack,
the chimney trailing smoke.
i imagined the interior of the shack was snug against
the cold, unforgiving bite of winter's last.
i hoped the man or woman inside sat quietly
waiting,
considering.
