answers are scarcer than gold or natural-looking toupees

the sky is impenetrable

the sky is a retreating promise

why chase clouds when they are always elsewhere

roots have the right answer

roots hold the soil hostage, threaten to choke rain from it

tall tree, a lumberjack is here bearing the gift of open hands

I met a suicide bomber under similar circumstances

I found the remote control to heaven’s garage door in his mouth

tall tree, make sure he’s naked

tall tree, make sure his teeth haven’t been sharpened on other rough bodies

tall tree, my armoire talks to me in my sleep

it cries b/c of my argyle socks

leaves half-drunk on color, half-lost in summer

tall tree, identity is a network of branches

w/ so many destinations not quite reached