by Gerald Friedman
Trees Speak
We climb granite while my friend tells me of a man he knew.
This man wandered the desert looking for reasons to come home.
One night, struck, he found an alien
(this may not be true, but we’re by the lake now
and I like the story).
His first thought (which would not be mine)
was to ask how the alien found us, believing the planet lonely
in space as he was.
By the trees. Can’t you hear them singing?
Maybe he lied but I remember
the first woman who ever came across honey
in the lightning hollow of an oak.
It seems to me now
she must’ve heard something
and in this valley of pines, I must heed.
Jessica Michael writes in the high desert of Arizona, USA. Her work has appeared in One by Jacar Press, Poets Reading the News, ONE ART, and many others.She recently earned second prize in Oprelle’s “Matter” anthology contest. Find her at www.authorjessicamichael.com.
Gerald Friedman teaches physics and math in Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA. His poetry has appeared in various journals, and his photographs and photo-poetry hybrids have appeared in Santa Fe Literary Review, DailyHaiga, and contemporary haibun online. You can see some of his writing at https://jerryfriedman.wixsite.com/my-site-2 and more photographs at Flickr.