Orientation Tree
Orientation East
Ten huge legs stretched taught
to the sky
One hundred arms attached
to these legs
the scales that gave you
your alligator name
look more like a mosaic
of Portuguese tile
You share the air with canyon wren,
there are more dry limbs pointing south,
Sinaguan mothers may have hung
their babies from your branches
while they scoured for piñon, agave
here on the edge of the world.
Orientation North
The mother trunk,
Yes, there it is in the shadow
A stout tree’s stout tree
I picture the scope of the roots curled
under the log on which I sit...
I rely on their musculature.
Tiny birds send you up immense,
There are cuts to you, some old and axe hewn,
some new, yellow wounds.
Orientation West
There are many signs of people and
animals that gather at your skirts,
for stories? wisdom? a dose of awe?
You move with the air, yet stay still with the years,
afforded freedom by a mile of tree quadracep!
Someone carved a name,
we need to prove our existence,
You need only stand still
I apply sacredness to you,
soul balm of my own,
You need only water and wind.
Orientation South
How the light plays on your tiles,
how you inspire this meditation
that tells me to acknowledge too the small trees,
the mountain behind you,
the not so magnificent,
the deer pellet with a single
juniper seed lodged inside...
your seed?
You may not remember each fire, or
me, but I will remember you when I
am old and strong and beautifully tiled with a
few limbs missing myself.