New Mirage Journal

When a Tree Dreams

it is of eggs—

robin’s, dove’s—

the gentle cradling,

the perfect fit

of bluestem straw,

alder sprig, mud, 

down, hair, in its wind-

strong cup of sky-

reaching branches.

it is of pages—

pages, papers,

sheaves of books,

language unlocked

fiber by fiber,

leaves unfolding,

stories told

in the turning,

swelling rings.

it is of pining—

desire, a delicate

grieving, a mournful

rustling, a restless

resignation and

the puzzlement—

the twig-thin

tug between this world

and the next.



~DJ Gaskin