Trees

A host of trees:
I see faces in them
breathe;
eyes twisted
in murderous sight;
they want to burst
free,
murder the night.

They're people, too -
just like me and you.
They just want to grow;
they just want to know.
They just want to talk.
They just want what's right.

They cry
at the heaviness of the air;
their complexions dimm'd,
their pores choked,
by human ash.

They look at Japanese paintings
all day -
ones of silent women,
lonely Moons,
quiet trees,
still bushes;
they know the wisdom of these
and they live in haikus.

If you look closely,
a face will peer out
and slowly humanize -
first the eyes,
shruggish mouth,
twisting nose,
forehead moves,
face tries to move out.

They don't smile;
they can't smile now -
not even children can make them
(but they can still make them laugh).