I Often think of Trees

Not about how they
reach skinny arms up
in an insatiable endeavor
for the light.

Or how they dance
gently to the sweet
melody of the wind’s
sussurant song.

I think about the idea
that if one were to
fall someday, dancing
as trees do, and

if no one were about
to hear it, will the
dry crack of its
death knell be heard?

Silenced by the canopy’s
threadbare blanket
or the sodden earth’s
pliant pillow?

I say this because it
is often in a similar way
that I consider the
forest of stars above.

I cannot hear them,
but when I close
my eyes, for any
of the reasons that

one closes eyes,
do the stars, all at
once, shut out, as
if the flame of heaven

had been snuffed? A
reasonable person
would reply to me:
“No. I know this

because when your
eyes close, mine are
open, and I can see
the night sky as clear

as day.” But If we
were to both close
our eyes? Would we
need a third to see?

What if each of us
alive were to shut
our eyes, as if in
some sweet repose?

What then? Would
the stars above
extinguish themselves
without hesitation or

warning, drowning
the sky in the
infinite dark of
the cosmos? Would

we hear them, as
trees falling, or is
there no sound which
can be uttered to

herald the death
of the sky, and
the birth of horrible,
timeless black?