Marilyn Zwicker
The trees understand silence
Forever witnesses
Forever mute
They reach out to each other
Truncated embraces
Cut off by trail workers
Disciplining the forest
I used to think
I could be silent
But inside I am full of noise
Flitting from one thought to another
Like the chattering parliament
Of birds clustered
In the branches
The trees seem eternal
They rooted and grew
Tall and thick
Before my ancestors
Walked on this land
And will continue to become
When I die
Then I too will be silent
Wondering now if death
Is another kind
Of consciousness
My ashes mingling
With hillside scrub
I wonder if voices disappear
