Tree Without Birds

The tree without birds
is like a book without vowels
a mind without focus
a heart without tides.
Its limbs remain desolate
in the thick of summer.
It puts out leaves
but forgets to bloom
& its transactions with fungi
are strictly economic,
never lead to any
tempting truffle.
The wind plays it
like a mechanical instrument.
In bluest January
it doesn’t even remember
how to ache.


See Rachel’s response: “Offering.”

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6 Replies to “Tree Without Birds”

  1. Oh but birds are singing here, disturbingly so, as it’s been such a warm winter. What becomes of spring if there is no freeze to thaw?

  2. Makes me think of Wallace Stevens and the searing presence of absent things [I used to like his work a great deal, so I am saying this in admiration]. And yes, we are wondering what happened to winter here too, even the teaser bits of it we used to get.

  3. Actually Larry Ayers here, posting from Bev’s Ipad.

    I like the concept, and the reference to “transactions with fungi” — there should be more poems which refer to fungal matters! A tempting truffle… I’d like to be slicing paper-thin shavings from one right now!

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