tough night, and  I know the trees grow
not for me always, aren't always waiting around the
left corner of the orchard in blooming blossoms
all with fertile flowered seriousness and sudden
speck the wind with fragrance when i decide to
roam under lowest  limbs again combing my hair
bristling my fiber
just I assume they have recollections of me  once
again a day a night I spent weeping
beauty a being not leaving planted solid
touched their bark their leaves saw the underside
the veins the sap flowing for everything
knowing when I returned
one day hence whenever
I needed to again
feel connected to this orb this streak
of  green the yellow sun the fleeting white
unassuming clouds
an intuition brought by hormones
or callous winds and rainfall and tears like rain like sleet
a mad week a day nothing but the trees can I relate to
on the left side of the orchard
they stand still and
will always be there for me
tall and unassailably calm and
pretty