The Trees Are What Matter

The list of things
I no longer need to know
was written at dusk
in a wagon wheel rut
cut through a field of wheat
that emptied out
onto a sudden shore.

I kept it folded
in my pocket for years.

One day,
I reached for my keys
and the wind took it
from me,
carried it across the
neighbors' yards
and highway 52
into the
swaying arms
of many trees.