Thoughts Under My Tree 

I sit beneath the tree that grows from my body 

Hugging me to the earth 

Planting my feet to the dirt, 

Then my eyes focus to the piercing poppies 

While they’ve wilted a little, their color stands still 

Unmoved by the season’s nearing November weather, 

You cannot kill what you remember 

So, I close my eyes to keep the poppies safe inside 

And for the first time I see color in my mind 

So bright it melted through my eyes 

Into the fragile web of my thoughts, 

A little eight-legged monster 

Crawls on the grass nearby 

I’m in its home, so I do not dare go 

I realize when I am here 

It is ok to rest where the bugs lay 

The day is too brilliant and alive to be afraid 

I now find myself looking up at the stratosphere 

Mind turns from red to blue 

And how similar it is what we both do 

You fancy the water and reflect its color 

And Sky, you only allow yourself to be when its night 

But I can’t see that side of you 

In the sun’s mighty light 

I doubt very many truly do, 

Though you reflect the ocean’s hue 

Right now, you look more like a mirror 

Staring back is nothing but my own blue 

The one which reflects through my eyes 

Though are they even turquoise? 

In pictures they often appear green 

Much like the grass under my feet 

Which I step on to look up at you. 

Maybe we aren’t the same 

You don’t even have a name 

If you did, would you wear it with pride or shame? 

You’re far too grand to be labeled with something so simple 

Though people have tried 

Stratosphere, the heavens, atmosphere, sky 

Even I tried to make you like me 

But all these things only unearth a small part of you 

Just how the dirt spans over the earth 

You hug the entire sky 

You aren’t the sky, the heavens, or mine. 

These will only ever be synonyms 

The ever-longing search to find and analyze and categorize. 

But these little labels can’t touch you way up there 

Just keep floating up in the stratosphere 

And laugh when they confuse the atmosphere with you.