Birch Lesson

Morning window’s a silver screen of birches,

a dumb flickering epic.

You can make a tree-blur and call it Siberia,

or you can catch one tree hurtling at you and away

and snatch a lesson on standing still, knowing one’s place:


Black-and-white. Makes sense. Marked from the start

with the stain. Unmoving but moved through

by weasel and frog,

bears, train, raccoon dog,

This is our place. We live and die. Goodbye.