The Argument from Design

There is only one tree in the park.
Not this day only, but every day,
I find that tree when the day grows dark,

Never before dark, when the gray
Leaves are like a whispered amen
To a prayer I wasn’t there to say.

Therefore, I’m cautious and slow when
I start to climb (I believe the tree
Is not unknown to other men);

I test each limb before I leave the
One beneath, without assurance
Any but the lowest will receive me.

Then my doubt subsides where I chance
Upon a tangled branch, ripped free
The time I almost lost my balance.

Now I can move quickly up the tree,
Into its clotted heart, where the dark
Yields, to my callused fingers only,
The life of the one tree in the park.

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