A Shape in the Forest – Charles Hensler

I’d rather play a piano, my hands 
off on their own, the notes the only thing 
I want you to see: how they rise in a diamond 
            blue air.  

Descent has promised us nothing—
a too-loud wind, a fall through an uncharted canopy 
waiting with its green embrace, its love 
            of disappearances.

If you refer to your brochure, this forest 
can breath and sigh—a passage played tree 
after tree. We can stand at the edge
            listening, or maybe 

come back some other time, walk in at dusk 
half-drawn in the papery crowd, none of us more 
            than the weight of a shadow.

Besides, with the sun still lit behind the trees 
it’s too bright now, looking in, too dark
            looking down. 

Charles Hensler lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Shore, One Hand Clapping, West Trade Review, Pidgeonholes, ballast, boats against the current and others.