Real Poem

 

Matthew Zapruder

​

​

Tell me the secret

of the tree

that has risen for decades

sempervirens, into the pale

blue, the mild

night, the tree

imperceptibly rises,

surrounded by figures,

their laughter

and anger and attention

rises too, the tree

does not cry

imperceptible tears,

most tears are

disguised by anger,

is that a siren

or a bird, what

is it that has finally

reached us,

I have a brother, I have

a jar of winter

in which a secret

green hum dreams

but often I cannot

find it, I have

so many brothers

who do not know

they know where it is,

tree I will go to you

and say even

when I press my actual

ear to your rough bark

you will not

speak to me,

the little green

shrub without

a name says

with its waxy leaves

what is that sound,

is that death,

inside the tree

I hear laughter

of young wind.

​

​

​​​​​​​​