The Ooze of Trees

THE OOZE OF TREES

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Trees draw Life from the earth
up their patient centers,
slowly up their majestic wooden bodies,
from earth and dark roots, from the wet
and fecund and dampness and rottenness
of sweet mother earth, each tree
leisurely ecstatic in the rise of Life,
slowly drawing upward their juice,
their wet ooze into air,
into wind, and freshness, into Light,
into bird song and freedom,
into God.
This is their way of being,
their pleasure, the wisdom they teach,
shining through blind eyes
burning in the midst of dulled brains,
to be living trees inside us
tenderly wooing and teaching us to be:
from core to height,
as open as succulent trees,
drawing up the water of Life
through our feet and bellies,
pure Spirit, sweet nothing,
purge and flow, burning wet,
silky hollow, breath and blow,
releasing the innocent flood
through head and hands, lips and eyes
into God’s heavens as a blessing,
into pure Love as an offering,
into the open heart of Existence
like a kiss, like the merge of fire and Light
of music and word, raindrop and stream,
as earth nuzzles the infinite
until heaven dances down
body and brain, spirit and breath,
into the wet dark, through human roots
to penetrate the core of the world
until its passionate cry arises
through each flitting bird
each sensitive beast,
and slow brain, human touch and tear
as Life sings Life in a Universe
that wakes up and means something.

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