Old Clothes

I wrap my clothes around the tree limb
and swing back and forth in rhythmic insistence
I roll slowly across the sweet pine needles
turning into swallows that erase the trees

Ever run in the rain
singing to the underbrush
with an old stick?
Many secrets are alive there
but they are quite soft
and turn their eyes inward if you prod them
Please don’t beat them
or they will disappear
Nothing comes from anger