Tree

After the storm
there is a wet morning
and all the giants are sleeping again.

If their music was not clear before
then it certainly is now
the wheels of the universe.

As one arm grasps 
another and another
love steps out onto the highway.

On the lowway a shaky morning
of forgiveness carves itself
into wooden spoons for soup.

And she finds the bones
of a bird still in flight on the ground
surrounded by stars of broken glass.

Up we sprout in wave after wave
fiery universes with weeping eyes
and uncontrollable laughter.

The breath of our vision moistened 
with dreams from the tree
allows us to dance with infinity.

































































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