Choosing
You have to lie beneath the tree to see
Her branches spread against the sky.
A view, a pattern never found before.
The spot you choose, the tree,
The season of the sky, the light
Within your eyes determine
What imprints there.
Never ceasing, the press of earth
Against your back,
The breeze riffling your hair,
The songs of birds.
Insects humming in the grasses,
These will be with you,
The day you choose to lie
Beneath that tree, on that day
In the season of your short life,
Your history stretches far
Behind and before you
Only earth and sky and tree
Between/behind your eye.
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