If I Were A Tree

where would I spread my roots?

where would I spend my seasons?

where would my leaves shoot?

In that field over there

you know, the sloping one

that the boy lays down in

on summer days when the sun

goes in and out, in and out

and he makes creatures

out of the clouds and sees

crocodiles and dogs and wizards

with pointy hats that turn into 

into wisps of cotton wool nothingness.

Yes, that is the field

the one you can see from your bedroom window

the field that slopes

down to the stream, and I can

hear it gurgling in the summer

before the drought silences its trickles.

I would be in the middle of that field

alone

not a woods or a forest for me

too crowded

I’m a loner, it will be

just me in the middle

of the field that slopes

down to the stream

where the children used to play

make dams, float sticks down

to the still and shady pool.

The children of those children look across

the distant fields and see me waving

and they wave back at me

for I have always been here

alone in my sloping field

where a boy once watched the clouds

listened to the birds

heard the swishing of the grass

and the rustling of my leaves

as they danced and dappled his face

and he smiled up at me and I wonder now

where is that boy?

What trees does he smile at these days?