As if...

A morning walk on the shoulders 

of Lake Chabot toward the creek,

the young redwoods and the old oaks 

and the tall tender pines 

as if for the first time 

and as if for the first time

I circle the large trunks, 

roots tangled like boas,

stare at them and they stare back 

as if mutual understanding could 

be possible by looking and waiting. 

On this warm morning, I wear sandals. 

On cooler days my lace-ups get their turn. 

My old dog greets both with wild shaking 

of her bushy tail and in the woods she sniffs 

as if never before, as if never again.

There is the scent of freshly washed bark 

and the fragrance of something brand new 

as if these trees had been pulled up by their

crowns through the muck and moss

in the deep of night.  Oh, but what is 

that strange sound beyond the creek?

A creature, yes, honking in pain.

I look to my breath, to the scent of oak,  

to the flavor of pine, to the sweet perfume

of life which I may never understand, must love

without armor, without holding back

as if never before and never again.