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.