Freely – by Susan Tepper

Went to the forest to find the trees You learn not to ask questions— The father, son and holy ghost flit through low hanging branches. Everything in drooping readiness. A hipster appears  with spiked yellow hair, unnaturally blue eyes torn shadows, lugging a small ladder which we climb together; him first, whispering back over his shoulder: Hillel.  I came to you  when you were born. Asking how is your mother.   An instant moment  of  recognition. Before blaming it on  the mushrooms sprouting freely at the base of the trees.