treetops

inside, music is playing during a cool,

drizzling morning in May.

overcast skies but the light is translucent

and from the 5th floor balcony in a moderate wind

the treetops are swaying.

they’re in full bloom, dense with

maple leaves (mostly) and it seems

they’re keeping time with the music

like ten thousand kinetic conductors

each with their own interpretations, and

the remarkable thing is, it doesn’t

seem to matter what form of music is playing.

the trees know Bach and Cage and

jazzy-fingered Petrucciani and cool-keyed Jamal

and they know the shave-and-a-haircut knock

across the hall at door 504 and the roar

of the back-thrusting tractor trailers on their fierce

approach and during the intervals, silence.

they know silence.