the grieving tree

dogs know that
people are assholes,
delusional and
full of shit

some divulge
indifference
to the world
and some imagine
its creatures to
belong to them

the rest are on
a foreverlong
running train
watching landscapes flit by

the trees, by the way
know this.

in fact
the next time you are
scaling your city streets
in languor
or some other
disillusionment
and you notice a
lone tree just
hangingaround by itself,
do not shuffle past
or look in the other
direction.
instead,
stick your
fleshy man-ear
to its tree-trunk
stick it
do not feel awkward:
go over to it
and kiss that
pretty wooden thing
then make sure nobody is
watching and
listen closely.

you can hear
it grieving

a hollow
baritone sort of
grieving,
an ancient
blues lyric
accompanied
by a fat chello or
a double bass,
eerie on account
of being slightly
out of tune

sometimes
you can hear
a wind whisk by
in harmony
with the chello

their words
cascade and
elongate:

we
don't
need
you

the insects know this
and laugh

while the trees they
just grieve.