It towers over every
where and thing, that tree
you’d walk
a mile to see
and see from several miles
away. Owl wings
say hush to evening light’s
witherings.
First the little, then
the less. Still here
you’ll find the woman
of the fields appear,
here, a somewhere
to begin
again, somewhere
to let light in
again — the light,
a glint of light
refracted in the evergreens,
repose of night.