almost one touches

were we to take the pulse of rising sap
in the grey trees across the iron fence
in the small forest that is now spring-dense
we might escape from nature's trap
but find ourselves sprawled on her lap
unable at this time to make pretense
of being on any journey save one hence
to all those places far beyond the map
in this light the sharpness of the green
is simultaneous soothing and deep pain
we do not take the message for the thing
instead we take note of the morning scene
wonder when next we'll feel the gentle rain
and why the bird is suddenly on wing