THIRTEEN WAYS OF LOOKING AT A CHERRY TREE
I
The soft arc of cherry blossoms
Surround all the people
Staring into the April sun.
II
I stood silently there,
Trees filling
My mind up with pink cotton.
III
There is a weeping cherry at home,
Planted to remind us of one beloved.
IV
The tiny blossoms there –
Springing.
They sparkle with the hint of restoration
Singing.
V
I am never just of one mind
About an orchard’s bounty,
Are the trees more lovely full up
With fruit or glowing with their
Fragrant blossoms?
VI
I think of those trees of my youth,
Beset with bodies
Climbing about, buckets held
Tight, each spill costly,
Children
Beside their worn parents,
Traveling so far for these fields.
VII
O young men of Galilee
What make you of the cherry wood
Now turned to the rough hewn crosses
You must carry
Up the long and dusty hill?
VIII
I listen for the music
That takes over a summer morning
The sounds certain,
The sure, rhythmic hum of bees
On the branches.
IX
When the axe fell to clear the way
Was the noise heard
Or did we all turn aside?
X
The sight of glowing trees
Reflected in water
Is worth a great festival,
Even cynics agree.
XI
One time we were walking by
And birds rose up
From their leafed cover,
We were more startled
Than they, but all unsettled quite,
In the night.
XII
It is late autumn now.
Golden leaves are all aground.
XIII
My Cherry trees are silent here
In Winter’s chill.
Snow is weighing heavy on them.
I imagine birds
Hiding quietly.
Homage to Wallace Stevens and
“Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird”