Simply Air Everywhere
“trees like the lines of pens scratching out a secret” — images and sensations toing and froing, combining to move and grip us, compelling us to think critically about what it means to be human.
I hear the birds of spring again,
only today it is not in the sun.
The sky—
a blank canvas.
Trees like the lines of pens
scratching out a secret.
The truth is the birds
flying from limb to limb,
revealing each other
in the empty space
that ink can’t mark.
It makes me wonder
what life would be like
without any trees between anyone—
simply air
everywhere.
And rain
to wash away all the lines,
leaving us naked,
and weather
no longer danger.