The trees inside are moving out into the forest,
the forest that was empty all these days
where no bird could sit
no insect hide
no sun bury its feet in shadow
the forest that was empty all these nights
will be full of trees by morning.
All night the roots work
to disengage themselves from the cracks
in the veranda floor.
The leaves strain toward the glass
small twigs stiff with exertion
long-cramped boughs shuffling under the roof
like newly discharged patients
half-dazed, moving
to the clinic doors.
I sit inside, doors open to the veranda
writing long letters
in which I scarcely mention the departure
of the forest from the house.
The night is fresh, the whole moon shines
in a sky still open
the smell of leaves and lichen
still reaches like a voice into the rooms.
My head is full of whispers
which tomorrow will be silent.
Listen. The glass is breaking.
The trees are stumbling forward
into the night. Winds rush to meet them.
The moon is broken like a mirror,
its pieces flash now in the crown
of the tallest oak.
Read More
- Prose
- Chapter 1 A Letter to God Chapter
- 2 Nelson Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom
- Chapter 3 Two Stories about Flying
- a. His First Flight
- b.The Black Aeroplane Chapter
- 4 From the Diary of Anne Frank Chapter
- 5 Glimpses of India
- a. A Baker from Goa
- b. Coorg
- c. Tea from Assam Chapter
- 6 Mijbil the Otter Chapter
- 7 Madam Rides the Bus Chapter
- 8 The Sermon at Benares Chapter
- 9 The Proposal
- Poetry
- Chapter 1 Dust of Snow
- Chapter 2 Fire and Ice
- Chapter 3 A Tiger in the Zoo
- Chapter 4 How to Tell Wild Animals
- Chapter 5 The Ball Poem
- Chapter 6 Amanda
- Chapter 7 Animals
- Chapter 8 The Trees
- Chapter 9 Fog
- Chapter 10 The Tale of Custard the Dragon
- Chapter 11 For Anne Gregory
