Dave Bonta's short poem makes a quiet, surprising claim: a tree's "music" isn't decoration. It exists "to make it go," meaning to keep the tree alive and moving, growing and drawing up what it needs. The poem pushes against the idea that this music is "art or play." Instead it calls it "a festival of use," a lovely phrase that joins celebration with practicality. For a tree, being useful and being joyful are the same thing.
The last lines shift from the tree to us. We hear the tree's activity as "singing," and the poem calls that a "faith." The speaker seems to suggest that hearing song in wind and branches is a kind of trust in something larger. The final words, "being / beyond," drift down the page and leave the thought open. The mood is calm, reverent and a little mysterious, as if the speaker is standing under a tree, listening, and finding meaning in simply being alive.