sleep comfortably in tall
evergreens beyond your line of sight.
God-like, they are there, you know it,
but you cannot touch them, do not
always trust them, often believe
they are figments of your imagination,
which, of course, they are. Most days,
like death, they never cross your mind,
but when they do, like love, they bring you
hope—ripe, honeyed pears bathed
in sunlight on a golden plate.
On better days, you wait for them,
knowing in the vessel of your heart
that they will awaken, one by one, yes,
they will stretch and descend to you, they will
fall like unexpected kisses upon
the palms of your grateful hands.