Some Trees

        These are amazing: each
	Joining a neighbor, as though speech
	Were a still performance.
	Arranging by chance
	 
        To meet as far this morning
	From the world as agreeing
	With it, you and I
	Are suddenly what the trees try
	 
        To tell us we are:
	That their merely being there
	Means something; that soon
	We may touch, love, explain.
	 
        And glad not to have invented
	Such comeliness, we are surrounded:
	A silence already filled with noises,
	A canvas on which emerges
	 
        A chorus of smiles, a winter morning.
	Placed in a puzzling light, and moving,
	Our days put on such reticence
	These accents seem their own defense.