The little tree

The little tree dreams in the drizzle of the night

Slowly growing higher, and deeper too

The ground is full of roots twirled around like hair

Here’s one with a head full of worms dangling like ornaments

But there are no eyes.

The Ants crawl silently carrying the injured to the nest

The moon that hung over my father’s grave can’t fly away like a bird.

My eyes are leaking again.

Now I dream, I see children climbing the tree and look they are picking apples in the middle of winter