Living the Tree-House-Person Test
I draw pictures of trees
on sheets of paper
place my hands on the trunk
of Maple, ask it to let me
ride out this storm
string a hammock between
two branches of Oak
with no awning to stop a sunshower.
Eighteen feet off the ground
I play my harp on the deck
of a Pasadena Willow.
In my Franciscan retreat
I sleep in a Douglas Fir
with french doors open to the sky.
I draw trees that won't come
crashing down on me,
forgiving trees.