Ant-like, all the other trees envy you
yet you are a bundle of nerves.
Sunshine works at massaging you
draping soft gold around your shoulders
like a weighted blanket
and yet
you tremble.
Hammocks lay lazy in your arms
like trust-fund babies napping on a Tuesday
while you—the largest living thing on Earth—gesture frantically—
the guy who runs beside the train window
after the doors
slam
shut.
What do you know?
What can you see?
Chickadees alight on authenticity
and they nest in Aspen branches
Nothing can kill you
and yet
you shake.
What—or is it Who?—
Who do you see?