The wind traffics with the trees,
bringing noise and scraps of airy gossip
fretted and torn by electric wires,
old speech from the plains due south, due west.

How is it enough to have planted
these groaning maples and elms,
how enough to imagine the wind caressing prairies--
tough grasses poised eye to eye with the sun,
bending and flaunting; tossing curves
back to the wind, saying yes;
saying, yes, this is your shape,
this is your fragrance, your weight,
and freighted full with weather.