Heart of the Tree

Heart of the Tree

What’s this fellow up to, you might ask, stooping so,

as he sinks his spade into the soil with a gardener's grunt,

tucking in a sapling, a young thing,

barely a twig with a prayer of leaves?

Well, he's dabbing a bit of green on the blue canvas of the sky,

planting a stationary kite that will fly in place for years,

a kind of vegetal pole where the winds twirl their invisible ribbons,

and a lookout tower sticking its head into the clouds.

In the soft bed he readies, believe it or not, he tucks in

a future comfort, a place where shade will pool like a cool thought,

where droplets will gather and fall like quiet epiphanies,

and seasons will come to sit in a ring, changing hats as they chat.

Oh, and he's quite the generous sort, casting out parcels of beauty,

and claims to the forest's ancestry, handing out tickets

to a leafy legacy that others will cut the ribbon to, all smiles,

the kind of future spectacle that'll cause unborn eyes to shimmer.

Imagine, there he is, plodding about in his personal plot,

surrounded by houses, stoically loading his ark with loyalty,

with neighborly love, with handfuls of civic-mindedness,

all the while the grand blueprint of a nation uncurling in his mind.

This one tree, its branches may not reach from sea to shining sea,

but nestle into its limbs, a sparrow starts a song

that carries far, past borders, over rooftops, a melody that wraps

around the heart of the country, endless as the sky –

the simple anthem of someone who has planted a tree.