From the Verse Essays of Ivar Benløs: The Willow of Hurricane Utah

Human bodies are fearful
Mysteries haunting themselves.
They whisper within chambers
Created by their whispers,
Wondering why they wonder,
Unaware of why they are
Inhabiting awareness.

This spring, the weeping willow
Corresponded to a mood
Of weighty, great amazement,
Greening daily by the road
With little to commend it
Except that massive willow
Out of place in red desert.

To whom did that mood belong?
Bundles of microbes trundled
Within the skin of an ape
Tormented by thinking things
Inherited from thinkers
Of fearsome things in their skins
Containing communities?

Why not them? Minuscule things
Genetically distantly
Related to that thin skin,
Inhabiting it as thoughts
Tangled up in skeins of words
Inhabit its transmissions,
Nodding to the nodding tree

Sic passim. Everything is

Passing, is strange and estranged
From itself as it passes.
The community of me
Believes itself singular,
Believes nothing haunts that tree.
That tree, however, is me.