Molly Frederick’s most recent poem to appear here was “The Simplest Thing” (August 2018). 

Midst of Being
By Molly Frederick

I went out looking for clouds—transfixed
by lightness in the sky on a summer day—
and was captured by a tree.
River Birch, the only tree I’ve ever seen
that always seems to be changing clothes.
Rolls and scrolls, ruffles and ribbons
of tree bark slip off in slow transformations
never quite complete. 

The tree asked nothing of me—
not even my attention.
But my focus tightened, and my eyes
turned inward.
Because I too know what it means
to shed bark, grow new layers, guard
the soul’s core from a grasping world.

Green leaves like arrowheads travel down
the branches, pointing the way to water.
(Does the heartwood dream while it waits?)
And so, our thoughts melt into one another.
Celebrating the everything
behind a seeming nothing, surging toward
a vast, immeasurable sea.