(i) How to hug a tree
Find the widest patch of parkland,

the longest line of trees.
Walk the path between them,

like a sergeant major—

walk until your rhythm

dissolves

all notions of hierarchy.
Notice how the trunks are spangled

pale green,

as if the heartwood

is imagining

how to live at its rim.
Sprawl yourself under a canopy.

Let its green wind

rinse clean through you.
Travel your eyes along each speckled limb,

each tracery of tiny branches,

the internet of green.
Observe how its leaves sift sunlight,

how it sounds like water

running upwards.
Yet, when the sun slips,

a tree empties itself

of light and air, unhitches from the sky.
And binds, densely, to the earth.
Lay your spine down

among its roots, and stay,

for as long as you can forget
how to stand up and walk away.