This poem is taken from PN Review 70, Volume 16 Number 2, November - December 1989.
Tree in Light Wind
Today the wind is human, it is tender.
If branches move, it is not all together
But desultorily, one or another;
Tuning, like players in an orchestra,
One or another individually
His instrument before the symphony,
Head bent; but for its voice, solitary.
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