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By Stephanie Wescott

I need the height of trees
to put me in my place.
Seeing them, noticing them
reminds me to whom I owe
all this.
‘Do you know who I am? What
I have done?’
If only their declarations were
less humble than quiet,
unassuming stoicism.

Twisted things.
If only they could make a self
commodifiable by modern law.
‘Do you know who I am? What
I have seen?’
Seeing them, noticing them:
An act of acknowledgement.
Of language shared.

I need the height of trees
to put me in my place.
Far lesser than their need of me:
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.