Aurora

I have been told that in some northern Indigenous traditions, the aurora is described as the hair of departed ancestors. The sky last night was a beautiful illustration. My son tells me he has seen auroras for several nights, including fiery red ones.

We Must Write Poems About Trees

 

We must write poems about trees, not just take pictures,

because a picture is always too far, too near, too simple.

If it shows the sweep of branches it misses the texture of bark and leaf.

A tree will not confine itself to one perspective. It is like history

or dreams, or anything we try to grasp like the blind ones

with the elephant: anything too big and too intricate and too sacred.

Anything, really.