You could easily walk past, your mind
registering “tree,” as if it were nothing more
than an obstacle to be avoided. Or,
if you were walking quietly enough,
you might feel the nudge, hear
the whispered invitation: Look.
And if you did, you might be led
into a secret gallery that displays
the art of trees, and find a jeweled flower
made of wood and time and weather,
right there, in a circle of bark.
You never know.