Among Trees

I wish I could tell you of the old trees held fast, muttering quietly, the clouds pulling against them; I feel how day twists slowly in the green shadows, freckles of sunlight divide the leaves, touching me, then receding like answered prayers. Dress me with ground, with moss, with lichen; carry me across this quiet, this stillness, until I am just roots, buried in earth, listening. Every tree speaks of time, of depth, of love — I wish to dwell there.

• A R Ammons