The Trees Grow Out of the Air
The old contented gentlemen will say
That every tree that’s been begins from root
And over years of nurturing it may
Grow tall and broad from this established foot.
On this they will repose and gently sigh
When young men dare to question thoughts so high.
How little they dream of truths so rare,
For no tree ever grew out of the ground;
They grow out of the air.
They spin themselves with carbon from the breeze.
A frozen wisp of crystallized sunlight,
Transformed by way of softly swaying leaves.
Their roots draw mother’s humid breath to height,
So that within and out she whispers clear
A rustling secret deaf men cannot hear.
So now my son I whisper too,
The secret so few care to know:
Do not fear what is true.