Big Trees

colourless above me now
to forget when the sky was blue within
rich enough and bold as such to embarrass
any brazen king

pregnant drops of rain
patient as their mothers hands
to suspend and wait beneath cedar trees
for the sun’s warming demands

who knows about a robins nest
bent twigs wound in a gutter
yet there contains more life in shell
than my 22 years put together

the movement is the only thing
that shames me more than my rhetoric
i can’t breathe like breeze who silently
knows how to illustrate the sentiment

where the winds are loud and
active yet absent of words in discourse
my tongue carves a death march through the streets
or it carves a screaming, live birth

when the world was void and empty
it was still a world - true to vacancy
hanging in the womb of my God and between the
space in His lips, in a sound of “Let there be…”

so when i feel within unformed joy yet to be
rudiment my depths of doubt ingrown
how can i begin to see any light inside of me?
yet i hear a voice not my own

that’s why i must point to the sapling outside
sprung not of dirt, hand or seed
but from inside syllables of a Lovers mouth
surely he can speak a cedar out of me

(c) Stephanie Diaz-Schumm