Forest Poem – White Noise

Forest Poem – White Noise

White Noise is a forest poem, a celebration of leaves rustling and the power of trees. Next time you go to the forest, listen.

White Noise – Forest Poem

Among weeping leaves, the wind drinks drops of rain and 
clads the oily greens with the sun’s golden glow;
Below the weeping willow, nothing but white noise and
the earth’s mulch and shoots. We lay on the flat of our backs,
our eyes sown on heaving leaves, out of the blue, gurgling droplets
gushing down our cheeks. Were we weeping when
we could have been sleeping? Maybe she did not let us, maybe
they longed for us to hear the grace of branches
lifting and shifting back and forth around the willow’s silken trunk,
her arms drooping
to draw stars on blades and sing along the bud’s turquoise hymn
in the rain. Still swaying, the twigs sweep away the webs in
through our windows, I spot a bird jiving, another
gliding on the crown, now leaning east, then mouthing south
toward our skin. In between the shades of green,
we can hear the peppered blue and now,
the leaves are sleeves.

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