I’m bald as a rock, with a million arms
and a million words on my tongue.
The night’s darkness keeps me warm
as I take the world into my lungs.

Stars make me sneeze
and tickle the inside of my nose
as I sway in the breeze
and wear the twilight as my clothes.

My tree is made of clouds
and its trunk is made of me.
I stand alone in a crowd,
rooted in thoughts and inquiries.