KNOWING

I’ve started googling pine tree subgenera again.

But this time, there is the knowing.

That when I lean straight backed against the wall

and inhale, I know.

All the way to each root in my soul,

from the moment the sun kisses tree tops

to the moment it slips beyond the horizon

and into the night.

My dreams are full of knowing,

and when I walk, I feel it in my blood,

my bones as I stand to wash the supper dishes.

It lends itself in quietness;

it lends itself in laughter.

This time, there is knowing.

So when I lift my face up to the sky

and exhale, I know.