Trees

Think of the trees.
Not of their violent striving
to kiss the stars at night,
not of their secrets
swished about amidst the breeze,
not even of their age, and generations
dead and gone who also sat
beneath these very branches,
but only think of them as of a profile.
See the dark outline against
the bright white of the sun.
See all the shapes that work their way
up from roots to the tips of leaves.
Then see the whole of the
ancient vertical trunk.
See it's constancy, never shaken: a paragon
               of straightness.
Think of the trees.