The tree outside my window

The tree outside my window
is covered with beards of moss —
some vibrant,
some nearly white, the life-
green fading.

They are the beards of old men,
filled with tears of rain, dripping,
dripping as to the frail shaking branches they
cling.

From the branches shoot twigs
like thousands of fingers, reaching
upward. Yearning.
They are the fingers on Jeremiah’s hands,
not able to grasp, but still they
try.

The twigs like tiny streams flow
downward. Joining
others they form branches that swell
and narrow, and bend into the
river. It flows out to the
ocean, consuming the tears as they
fall.

Written on March 11th, 2012 at the Trappist Abbey in Carlton, Oregon