Sixty-Six

Be Still. a tree feels the wind
tickle and dance upon its peeling
bark faces; hears the sounds
of each day and night (
screams, chirping, hushed conversations
) without saying a word

oh let me be ego-free
like a tree! so wholly
absorbed
in watching everything,
so utterly mindful

always reaching to the
sky, blue black or gray,

and yet

always planted firmly
in the ground,
roots remembered,
anchored by humility