just here

little tree

little tree
by E. E. Cummings

little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly

i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don't be afraid

look the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms
and i'll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you're quite dressed
you'll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they'll stare!
oh but you'll be very proud

and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we'll dance and sing
"Noel Noel"

Once upon a time
A talent blossomed from a hope
And wove its white-green shoots across my stumbling fingers
The uneven bowings soon grew smooth
Like soft weathered vines
On a garden trellis.
The desire grew,
And the tingling in my heart
Faded like a bud
As the pink, ripe fruit calmed the nervous beating
monitored by anxious eyes.
But winter came
And the ground grew cold.
Love lost in a numbing wind
took away the freedom.
the music, goosed-skinned and coarse,
and shriveling with the leaves,
fell uniformed to the chilled earth
waiting for the seeds of lost longing
to spring from the dry ground.

another one I liked

Winter and the Nuthatch
by Mary Oliver

Once or twice and maybe again, who knows,
the timid nuthatch will come to me
if I stand still, with something good to eat in my hand.
The first time he did it
he landed smack on his belly, as though
the legs wouldn't cooperate. The next time
he was bolder. Then he became absolutely
wild about those walnuts.

But there was a morning I came late and, guess what,
the nuthatch was flying into a stranger's hand.
To speak plainly, I felt betrayed.
I wanted to say: Mister,
that nuthatch and I have a relationship.
It took hours of standing in the snow
before he would drop from the tree and trust my fingers.
But I didn't say anything.
v Nobody owns the sky or the trees.
Nobody owns the hearts of birds.
Still, being human and partial therefore to my own
successes—
though not resentful of others fashioning theirs—

I'll come tomorrow, I believe, quite early.

leaves

The leaves fall on chilled air
They flutter a bit
And collect in the gutters
And cling to the pavement around the tires of parked cars
Wind and rubber soles
Batter what’s left of the orange skeletons.

Sometimes I feel like a lawn care man
With a leaf blower
A job only done to feed my family
With no thought to the trees that used these to give us shade
Or the god who gave us the trees
Just living, existing, to gather up the remains.

Dancing

The music pulses
my toes shake,
wanting so badly to skip
across the floor.

But I wait for the counts
and I close my eyes
and I don't move at all.

At five-six-seven-eight
I let my eyes open again
and I breathe in deep
and in a wave of drum beats
I'm across the floor.

I meet you in the middle
our muscles aching
and they fly anyways
and we are out of breath
and we are beautiful
if only for a moment.