(To be read next to my painted tree)

Swaying Branches of Burning flame
Blow curious Winds
Through our mountainous stature.
Lighter than we thought,
We waver with every whispered breath
Two, like self-awareness
We Stand
On fertile ground, reminded
Of all things mortal

And with barefeet?
We Speak
And in a solar tongue?
We pray.
And in lunar rhythm?
We dance.