The Trees—They Were Once Good Men

who for whatever
reason were never
given the keys to
heaven,

and who stand now

arms outstretched
to one another, some
entangled, some even

grown together, in
more than solidarity
but still afraid to fall
in love again.
                             From

these, in this thin
stand here one sees
one’s vulnerability:
one’s slender life,
one’s limbs lifted
high.
               The air.
                                  Sun-
riddled good-byes.
The wood.
                       Listen—
Can you hear your
deepest prayer?

Your farthest flung
flitter of shame?
Your heaviest sigh,
sung like a name?

No.
           No, nor can I.