The Love of a Tree
Branches, rallied by currents,
Skittered and scratched across the glass
That was barring their way.
Did they unconsciously attempt to break the molten sand
Or did the inside hold a certain attraction for the animate tree?
We know that trees send their roots deep into the group
To find water. Their blood and their essence.
We know that trees spread their leaves to the sun
To find air. A breath for the body.
Is it possible that rees send their branches to find life?
For what is the point of a spindly twig in spring
Without a singing bird to perch?
What is the point of an overarching bough
Without a squirrel to use it as a launching pad
For acorns and its own body?
And what is the point of a mighty trunk and sturdy branches
Than to provide rest for a sticker fingered wanderer
Who wants a cool place to rest?
The trees look for us,
One dropped acorn
One struggling sprout
One whipping switch
One unbending tower
One slump shouldered ancient
One hollow shell at a time.
Pressing out from the center to find us.
The only thing that can stop their search
Is the animosity and callousness of their goal.
The object of their affection will affect their destruction.
When they reach arms out to us, we trim them
When the next generation grows closer, we cull them.
And when they die, we dispose of them in a hellish grave.
