And every time you left,
I was trees.
Trees;
you pass along,
On roads; a tiring and unquiet vacation;
With leaves, dried, dead, untouched;
Roots yearning in their murmurs under a voiceless earth.
Trees;
that briefly become familiar and fade
Into the line,
between solitude and loneliness,
with your gaze withdrawn.
Trees;
Cut them bare and make a boat,
full of elixir. For your wake
into that woodless land,
Your dreams still desire.
Trees that continue to stand there,
a thousand years, or more perhaps,
forgotten;
Not moving an inch,
Not mumbling a word,
Just giving in to the gentle breeze,
That comes with your departure.
