Next poem turns a corner.
There are a number of poems about trees in this book,
and here is one.
"Late winter in plague time."
"We permit ourselves
A walk every day.
We believe outdoors is safe.
We remove our masks,
And the trees in Riverside Park
Are so individual,
The curved or abrupt swerves of their boughs
Appear to demonstrate free will in cahoots with biology.
So then, one day, crossing the street to the park,
Something in the air
Not wind, not fragrance,
Brushes against my body,
Surges like breakers,
From the row of leafless sycamores.
What can it be?
It must be the sap rising.
Yes, today must be the day
The sap begins to rise,
Exciting the trees
So that their bodies
Emit waves of a chemical science cannot yet name,
Which my own body can sense,
Even in the midst of winter,
Even in the midst of plague."