The Pine trees keep surprising me,
with the way every limb reaches for the stars
as though there were some great wish to make,
then when a wild wind starts to slap
with its many hands,
they cower, like a Weeping Willow,
just kissing the ground,
and in the same instant it blows away
they spring back
in the shape of a dream
I half expect that one day
when the air begrudgingly misbehaves,
the tallest one will break,
all things do eventually
