This poem by H.L. Hix entitled "Will My Word Grow into a Tree While I Water It Every Day with Silence?" appears in the summer 2015 edition of Colorado Review. For me, it evokes a fall scene in the Tibetan Himalayas.
It offers its gold leaves, the ginkgo,
half to the monastery and half
to the mountainside. The kept leaves blow,
if not on their way down, soon enough
against the wall. The given leaves know
their way, or need not, achieve, as if
bidden by it, the stream they follow
toward neither solace nor relief.
Downhill the given gather, mingle
with others equally stream-bidden,
but dwarf maple, and red, in a pool
where, still, they mimic meditation,
whisper nothing, nothing at all,
to any passerby who'll listen.