“You can’t write poems about trees
when the woods are full of policemen.”
– Bertoldt Brecht.
You can feel their presence, even now.
They lean over us, inspecting, silent
asking questions but answering none.
Some loiter in the distance, indifferent
to their impact on you. They expect to
be ignored, so pretend they aren’t here.
Some exude the authority of age and a
lack of concern for your opinion.
When you leave, the clear daylight and
open space will make you exposed, anxious.
Lone stands can comfort, or warn.
Though you have left the forest
you can feel their presence, even now.
Just a rough draft for now.