To rain back

The global conveyance of thought no longer requires your factories to accomplish.
John Perry Barlow

The trees gather together in the clearing
free of birds. Their roots, once rested, drink
deep of the groundwater; they seek out one another
in the darkening dirt. Like synapses they commune,
turning the mirror of etymology back on itself:
infinity lies in the space between the roots. Above,
the branches tremble from unseen wind. Animals avoid
the circle made, knowing it to be a holy place.
The leaves turn inside-out and begin to rain back
into the heavens: the trees giving back the gifts
of the earth. They don’t need them where they’re going.