Tree Lines

I used to walk the dotted line but now I live






Sailing a sea of silk shirts and

the sterile smell of Chanel No 5–

clutching a bough that breaks

into pink and purple

red and wet

with rain and

rich and full as wine.

Close your book and

study the Book of Nature:

Expand your mind.

I’m drunk on life

(Rumi might say)

and your face looks different in this light and

silence fills the jar like lemonade and

we drink deep as the sun dips

its fingers into blue.

Is the war over?

Is the bottle finished?

Did the tree line end?

I’ve dropped my pack-

full of words and

planted my garden

in the present moment.

God’s hands.

The absence of words

captures the sparse beauty of

this alpine meadow.


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