The Tops of Tall Trees

Courtesy of the Bloxas Collection

I like the fact

That when I look over the roofs of my suburb

I don’t see Muhammad, Jehovah, or Jesus

But the tops of tall trees

Swaying gently

Or holding tight against a southern gale

What happens up high is no mystery to them

As it is down here on the ground

Every branch bends

And the leaves shimmer in flow like beautiful hair

Their height overwhelms me

Their view disregards me

Tops of tall trees

Like the Sheoak, drumbeat straight towards the sun

Will sing softly to another or sometimes just howl

And all I can do is shake my fist at the sky