Tree

I've never spoken to the oak,
taken her in my palm, felt her skin
as if it were mine,
as if we were birthed
on separate timelines
and yet somehow intertwined,
as if we shared sentience
between our walls, I -
working out how to move my body,
snake around her frame
and then, on one foot,
resting limbs upon the breadth of her
where roots have never trailed.
She toys with me,
fingers underlapping,
reaching toward earth,
and I
let her whisper those secrets,
stain them on pale flesh
as tattooed wisdom
imparted by elders,
and when the well
of that wisdom is left upon me,
the kindred of spirits bound
in the many canals of my memory
I know I'll visit
year on year
to share
the landscape
a little more.