I can't approach the trees with reverence.
I'm not into awe; I can't take
them as taller than I am,
though surely they can reach
the topmost kitchen cabinet
and then there's me,
fumbling with my stepstool.
I don't speak Walden.
If I could talk to the trees
I'd offer a high-five,
crack a beer,
a joke,
a grin to let them know
I'm onto them.
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