by Peter Gallaher
Street lining trees I speak to you
Prisoners of a measured plan
Your limbs lopped off to a certain height
Roots blocked by sidewalks and sewer pipes
I have seen your ancestors on the other side
The sacred oaks and the mystic yews
Wild in the fields mighty in the woods
Bare limbs dark against the sky
Upthrown in triumph and agony
Leaf free frozen black forever in my mind
Ancient prayer nets over church roofs
Rough formed grace catching light and cloud
I have seen a forest of such trees in one place
And nothing but the bare hills and bogs in
Another cliffs dropping into the sea straight sheer
Winds whipping round a crystal mountain
Rocks just off the coasts like serpents lurking
And the loneliness of fierce night falling
I would take you there if I could so
I would leave you there then among
Black ravens above crumbling towers
Angels of an older age seeing Christ
In every eye that looks on them
There I would set you free
Free you from your duty to be pretty
There I would let you live your will to be