The Half Fallen Tree Poem by Duy Bui

On a cold Sunday afternoon, I went for a walk in Riverside Park.

It was the month of February, and it was cold.



The morning sun was hidden behind quick clouds,

Bird songs mixed with busy traffic noise and church bells

And in the surrounding stood withered trees and their

Leaves lay calmly on the ground.



I noticed a tree leaning, so low that its boughs touching the hard brown

And yellow ground.



Did it fall, detach from its root, or was it only inclining

To escape the brittle wind?



I caressed one of its boughs, sliding my hand across slowly

Up, down and up, feeling the prongs beside prongs,

Scabs upon scabs, some of whom fell after my scanning fingers.



At first I wanted to walk closer and see, and touch its root hoping that this tree was

Still breathing out from its home. And if not when summer comes will it

Still be here, lying under light summer breeze while other trees

Bear green leaves. Maybe it is only yearning to feel the leaves

On its body again; inclining to feel time again.



Then I thought, is it lonelier when loneliness is in the deep sinking clouds

That cover one’s world, or the entire earth?



I still don’t know if that tree has lost its root for

I want to feel without seeing the

Edge before floating in the air; hope without hoping.





I simply sat on a green, grayish rock [to dodge the brutal wind]

Underneath its boughs within their smothering branches and observed

The quiet world.



The bare branches against the sky

Looked as though they were scribbles on a plain sheet of

White paper, telling and retelling the agile metamorphosis

Of darkness and lightness in shadows, memories and dreams.



Before entering the threshold of busy New York City streets,

I saw a sign that says “Forever Wild”, and the picture of a bird

Drinking from a tree.


In nature, there is something about not knowing!