Where

The world is full of possoms, rolling off of the trees,
And the trees are black.

The earth has a secret in this rolling;
This rolling grows out of the earth,
Like the trees,
And like the trees also,
When they move in the wind.

What was the beginning of the possoms? Of the trees?
What was the beginning of the rolling off of the trees
And their moving in the wind?
And where is this going?

Not 'where' as in its direction,
The direction the trees go up into,
Or the around of the falling possums,
But the final Where,
The Where that I am?