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Dialogue With Daphne

The tree is covered with hanging moss.
It has four limbs and a hole like a mouth.
I call it Daphne. It smiles as I pass.

In fact it's just a tree. Its woody mass
Conceals no thoughts. And if it grows,
And fruits, and fades, and sleeps,
It does so by necessity.
It does not fear death.

Many would say I give the tree a name
To hide away its strange senselessness.
In fact I think I do it just to hide
How much I'm like the tree.
Twin bodies on a single turning world
Who are just as they are, because they are.
And if, when I grow old, I fear my death
I'll do so by necessity.

I smile at this gift of being.
I wear it like a laurel.



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