TREES TAKE ACCOUNT OF THE AIR after St. Peter's Abbey Walking early morning across the monastery yard air breathing breeze ruffling dark poplar trees already I've walked our country road, eaten eggs coddled for breakfast, found a monk who's found a tape recorder, my new song waiting to be sung, "Light works as an annointing material, works its way, works its way into my body..." the day barely begun but alive I hear leaves almost name the feeling on my face they are trying to say: listen, you are happy. This rustle I take to mean content. Trees do not let you down, oh their leaves bend, and daily they shake out their grief, but only the rarest tornado can fell one, pruned well they withstand even this; trees I think of as answers, love in solitary monastery air
Like the poems of Emily Dickinson, who haunts this collection, Campbell writes in an epistolary style that belies the depth of thinking that is engaged. The poems vibrate between human breath and earthly spirit. Nothing is insignificant.