If I say to you
these trees look like women,
you will accuse me of being
the romantic I certainly am,
but that will not change
the smooth white skin of this eucalypt,
or the shape that it forms, embracing an arc
like an arm cast around a shoulder,
a smile around a room.
The clear colourless air
licks about the leaves like water,
like my tongue around these words,
washing them clean of my unseeing
when I failed to recognise the wrinkles,
curves and declivities
of roots, branches, bark –
the way the foliage hangs,
drenched in sunlight
like long hair wet from the shower –
the way the day ends slowly,
like a woman making herself ready
after a long rest –
this tall tree
standing before me
in the fading light,
relinquishing the afternoon
and pulling on the night
like a new
black
dress.
David Kirkby
'washing them clean of my unseeing
when I failed to recognise the wrinkles'
David, I very much appreciate the humility in this statement. I try to see things as integral beyond the limits of my gaze. You capture that effort beautifully here.
This is a wonderful poem I need to read over and again.
Oh i love this so much. I see the trees as ladies too :)