run while you can

What the rock said to the tree.

A bright light from above. UW-Arbotetum. Madison, WI. Spring 2009.

A picnic sounds soothing;

sadly, I am stuck here.

Never springtime blossoms

or cold weather snoozes.

Simply me; you make ‘we.’

No matter; no nothing.

You’re not on my level.

No, with your fallen leaves,

that dead matter, I pretend

that I was once alive.

And even more often,

that I fell from the sky.

A foreigner, why not,

from an alien land

where the rocks can talk

and the trees must listen-

not just pretend to hear.

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