a tree

I'll kick my feet through the dry leaves
and trail my fingers through the prickers on my way home
just to feel something in my fingers
I'll marvel at the twisted roots of the last trees
I'll grieve for the fresh cut limbs as the men cut them
soon to curl over and mask a permanent scar
I'll pick the green leaves and pull them apart at the seams
count the veins and spread the pieces as I walk
a tree could never feel these things, a tree could never talk