Standing Furthest

All day I have done nothing.

To admonish me a few aspen

jostle beneath puny stars.

I suppose in a rainforest 

a draft of hands brought 

in the tubers for today,

women scratched their 

breasts in the sunlight

and smiled: someone

somewhere heard 

the gossip of exotic

birds and passed

it on in the night

to another,sleeping

curled like an ear:

of all things standing

furthest from what 

is real,stand these 

trees shaking with

disensable joy,or 

those in their 

isolation shading 

an extraordinary

secret.