Roaming about a lonesome forest,

I see the human’s ideal life through trees: 

photosynthesizing by day, respiring at night,

dancing with winds, singing with rains,

entertaining birds, romping with monkeys.

I don’t mind if it is an oak tree, a plum tree or a baobab.

They are all trees, yet they are very different.

I don’t mind if it is an acorn, a plum, or a baobab fruit.

They are all fruits.

The tree roots in darkness,

the top branches are always to the bright side,

touch the sky, awhile fly the cloud-kite.

Growing twigs, floating, an old dance,

an incantation murmuring, summoning.

I am walking deep into the forest, intruding into 

the ceremony—

A tree gifts a punch to my face.