I think I knew these trees
when sweat, like many hundred prayers,
fell off me
and into the ground.
I think I knew these trees
as sunlight struggled and sifted,
all gilt edged and phosphorous,
with morning.
I think I knew these trees, the same
ones that creaked with wind and talked
amongst themselves, at night when
the moon lay down in branches.
I too lie down
at the end of the day with my thoughts
and they are of all
the many littered space of dreams.
I think I know these trees.
I sit in their branches.
I too cry out, when the wind
blows, and you, are the sometimes
knot over which I grow,
and grow, and grow.
I think I knew these trees, and maybe
they knew me
as an animal,
as some young thing
that never put down
roots.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem