To Observe Silence on Earth Day

I read today that every tree
Has its own, unique, song. And I imagine
Choirs in the forests, full-throated,
But only when the last human
Is gone. Because music, thus noted,
Thus aired, thus floated,
Cannot possibly be heard for free.

Maybe it’s too late to pay our dues
Maybe those tall singers dance
To another muse. Maybe their song
Is not something we can choose
To be. Because music thus spoken,
Thus worded, thus broken,
Cannot possibly be heard for a fee.



Warriors III

Before we had things
To put in our house
They danced in the empty spaces.
And sometimes when we sing
Of all we have lost
The night flows past in their voices.
How many times I’ve laid them down
My weapons and my defences
Only to find them forged anew
And alight in my daughters’ faces.