You should see all these trees in flower:

arms full, masts spread, creamy as sails
preparing to catch a good wind—

I walk under them and I want to be here,
now; I want it to be like this always,
for the light to be gentle

like the skin of an almond or the flesh
of paper or a puddle of milk; but also
I want to be there

on the other side, wherever it is still
night, wherever the moon is still
touching the roofs with the tip

of its measuring chalk, and fingers
interlace beneath the sheet whose woven
patterns remind me of the sea.


In response to Via Negativa: Under Sail.

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