The Body as an Altar in the Understory

Erin Wilson

The communion

my eyes have

with the trunks of aspens

is different than

the communion

my eyes have

with the trunks of birch

or fir.

In fact, one needs

an interpreter or passport

to travel between them.

We’re talking temples or churches,

mosques or Synagogues here,

we’re talking Timbuktu, Toronto,

Damascus, or Detroit.

But when my eyes

commune with trees,

the trees impart to them

their language

without words,

without movement,

entirely

without.

It is within this etymological clearing

that my hands are leaves

and leaves are doves.

ERIN WILSON’s poems have appeared in Cordite Review, takahē magazine, BODY, The Fiddlehead, Verse Daily, and elsewhere internationally. She has won a Pushcart, a Silver Medal with the National Magazine Awards in Canada, and will appear in Best Canadian Poetry 2026. She lives a small life in Northern Ontario, Canada.