I asked the red oak
for permission to sit.
She said no.
Stand and wait
and listen.
I watched her release
a leaf with 5 points.
Stand like me,
her leaves
attached spoke with the
air. Her leaves
falling,
spoke with the ground.
Her veins ribboned
spoke with my hand.
Her roots underfoot
sipped the same water.
Her stem in my fingers
arced with time:
Stand. Wait.
Listen.