my rattle-mouse body’s

been here since the ice age

west to Devon, east to Kent

north as far as Worcester and Bucks

I tumble slip swoop

through my canopy chandelier

dark but for the stars

my tk-tk-tk-tk-tk tk-tk-tk-tk-tk

piano piano

a quiet concert on high

down the centuries

rigid name-plagued minds

stripped the land of trees for ships

planted plain conifer in craggy oaks’ stead

then sailed to savage other lands

with this blighted view

now you rarely see me

since they felled my ancient roosts

cleaving woodlands from each other

draining water from their roots

heating air that holds me steady

the canopy I love

weaves above your heads

but your hearing can’t catch

my clicking call – tk-tk-tk-tk –

so precise I hear the threads

of a spider’s web

you might learn how

to hear the trees and me

if you could be quiet

in this green place

if you could

be still

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