Poem- The World of Things

I’ll admit
I’ve never believed much in the human endeavor,
but have striven
to find my place
in the world of things.  Fleeting,
full of folly and joy,
our living evaporates like bird call,
            beautiful and unintelligible—
the mind breaks against the skull
            until the tide rises,
and we learn to touch each other with the reverence
we’ve kept hidden
for roses tilted forward to the nose
or furrows opened for planting.  So I’ve got nothing against
the joys of touching,
gentleness, or the urge to be fair,
but I can think of no better compliment
than to be kissed by a tree.