A tree sits in the ground. I start to hear

A tree sits in the ground. I start to hear
the wind in the tall branches, high in the sky
some clouds are floating. Listen to the skies
and birds, the hanging leaves begin to hear

the storm out in the gulf. What am I hearing
but arias of her? The clear blue sky
holds forms of a sure white. Later, the skies
become obscured and are no longer heard

but felt. It's when the birds no longer fly
that I may worry, when the turning water
moves over the soft land. But now, the ground

is waiting, river oak leaves start to fly
about the air. The singing of the water
fills the sky, then rains down on the ground.