The Tree Poem by Gregory Orr

1.
The word does not share
the world's flaw ("leaf"
is complete, unscarred
by insect or wind-tossed twig),
yet it is an essence
that implicates the world
as a wound implies a body.
2.
Each day the web made new—pattern
of line and space;

no matter
how tight the weave, emptiness
at the center.

No matter how vast
the space, each long-drawn filament,
held fast to leaf and twig, is love.
3.
Autumnal language: fullness and falling
away from the tree of self,
death with a future like seeds
in fruit…

In spring I kneel
to find it: that word in earth

extending downward one root,
upward one leaf…
Not eyes
discover it, nor even fingers
touching and probing mud,
but mouth and tongue—to taste
this world on lips
where, for that instant, the world lives.