Letter to George Berkeley

By Taly Nudelman

If a tree falls
her mother will weep,
a cry like the flapping of wings
of crows who have made their homes
in its generous limbs;

her bark will flutter off like a moth
leaving exposed its worn-out heart,
rings like waves on the shore
to meet the accordion bodies of earthworms,
full of life from
the veins of fallen leaves

yellow dandelions in ragged patches
like ornaments around her roots
will sigh velvet petals,
a release that sets scrambling
slender spider legs,
their eyes wide as if to say
Yes, you are here.
I see you.

Dear Berkeley,
God is dead,
but the forest is watching.