Listening to the Lights in the Trees
With forehead pressed against the trunk
Where the music is embedded,
I make this request: “Please, sing to me about your angels.”
The slender tree responds with percussive impulse,
Pushing me squarely back,
Flaying my chest, exposing my heart,
Invisible wings flexing from shoulder blades.
A cacophony of sounds and light flash through me,
Full on, but
I back off.
Old trees offer more seasoned melodies, I hope.
Gingerly stepping over gnarly roots to a
Welcoming section with thicker waist,
Gently placing my brow in contact with the weathered bark,
Silently, I ask.
This time I find myself in the heart of God,
Wings still flexing from my shoulders.
And the messenger says, “The ballad is more than can be sung
In a single verse.
Our angels require you sit
In communion with us
Throughout your life
In order to internalize the lyrics
Of that which you desire.
--Zan Lombardo, 2018