Sitting In A Tree

 beyond my perch
i imagine blue mountains,
a pagoda of oxygen
where hawks gaze.
they seem to be watching
reflections of angels
that bounce off the Pacific
to leave the world.

all the branches around me
thumb in the breeze for a ride;
but i am of a mood
to sit in this oak
and simply sway with it.
we aren't leaving
on the back of a wing
or a saddle of light.

maybe we are already flying.
most people never
take the chance to sit like us,
or wonder about strange little puzzles:
whether moths
are happier than gnats
or dewdrops shine brighter
than jewels.