Pushing, groping, creating small air holes
They work their way down, down in the ground
The roots of the tree.
Thick and round, the tree’s support
Like a cathedral pillar, mottled with age
Strong as the earth, graceful as the sky
The trunk of the tree.
Spreading like fingers into the bright blue sky,
Leaves clinging to them, numerous as the sands
Clawing and raking, searching for light
The branches of the tree.
