Is the cloud big enough to cover both of us?
It rained saltwater thick in winter.
Our time lost watching the sand breathe the water in,
rivulets leading to the ocean;
the shapes of trees.
It followed me back into Sunday
and the deep woods of New Jersey.
The snow was thin ribbons
speaking to the trees.
Asking them to carry the weight of their own water.
It’s easy to forget the warmth of leaves
with a cloud resting on your back.
I sleep back into a sunlit dream.
I ride the ripening of a beanstalk.
If clouds could drown me they would.
Beyond its billowing the sky fades into black.
If the sun could envelop me into atoms it would.
I wake up deep in covers.
A hole inside my lungs
lets the cold air ask me
What is a tree –
the sun, the soil, or the seed?
What are you
other than a living synthesis
without a seed?