Conversation with Trees

The backyard, winter

I am in a towel

in the porch light

The pool listens from under its blue tarp

hears nothing

the trees stare as if

they don’t recognize me

watching steam

rise off my arms and chest

I say, Woods you know me

They say, Not like this

Learned to become cold-blooded is all, I say

as if I could fool them,

throwing off steam like a damp sun

They ask, What is cold?

and I laughed,

because when you define cold for trees

you can’t say shivering

or numb

You have to feel what a tree would feel

see light as food

warmth as feeling full

and cold would be no leaves with which to eat

cold as forgetting how to eat

how to even want to

cold as the wind slipping through you

with no trouble,

nothing to catch on

Oh no, they say, You are warm!

You are warm! they say, like the children of a sad parent

I ask, Then how can I make it out here? in the cold?

and they think for a minute

as I stare up into the light

a few moths on the bulb

Because you’re asking, they say.

Because you can still feel it.