On the Nature of the Naturally Occurring

Shyness at the crown, it’s called,
the way that certain trees stop
growing at the top, an inch or two
before they touch and lose top tips
in others’ branches, as uncertain
trees unthinking do.

So lie down, there, underneath, yes on
hard roots that spider vein the grass,
and look straight up at patterns made
against the sky. Silhouettes with light
surrounded, definition grounded
by nothing more than knowing
when to quit. Growing, in this case.

It’s said to be a practice to avoid
contagion, tree fleas not shared,
disease kept miserly, ill neither to be
caught nor given. Of course, that’s
what a scientist must think, only poets
knowing better, saints acquainted
with the artist’s schemes. He, profligate
with beauty, careless of display, will
strew what’s lovely. He, prodigal be
found scripting leafy missives there
against the sky. Beauty: maker’s mark,
a signet, giving Him away.

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This poem also appears in the May 2023 issue of U.S. Catholic (Vol. 88, No. 5, page 8). Click here to subscribe to the magazine.