If we were wood how would we grow?
what would matter
but sun and snow?
And rain and the rain
In our leaves and boughs
how would we speak
in whispers our thoughts
manifest we grow and think
on a hillside
till we break

if we were wood how would it be?
to grow and grow in the wind
in the sun next to thee
and think and feel
the thing that is you
and this wood that is me
where are we from?

My roots dig and feel
everyday they dig
they search the soil
that thing which keeps me alive
but does not give me life
yet I dig my roots
deep and find nothing

If we were wood how would it be?
the breeze in our branches
whispered things that make
us go.
How would it be?
To feel earth and meet
the sun in our branches
and to be tree.

I wonder?