No Diga Mas Que Lo Que No Diga
The trees here weep,
Their needles dropping and tumbling like thick liquid,
A constant realignment of beards.
Trees migrate as well, but over generations.
Each succession reaching new heights
Against a coming ice age.
The mountains these trees cry above are large
And numerous. No people have seen all their sides.
Their untamed parts don't know their own savagery.
They move nowhere, stalk nothing.
They have a sunny side and a dark. Both are silent.
Both spend days staring into lakes like Narcissus.
These lakes in eternity reflect nothing but the mountains
And an occasional hawk. They are deep with fish.
The fish on the sunny side sun themselves in the shallows.
The fish of shadow only watch the giant bird whose wings
Spread before the sun. The bird is watching
For a fish large enough to make the dive worthwhile.
The fish live in fear, hope never to grow.
They hide in algae which drips like beards and never moves.
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