In an Ocean of Trees

The rain in the trees was the surf overhead

as he stood on the floor of the sea

up to his knees in the ferns and the tides

of the mind's dark flow.

He had always imagined them there

living out their days looking up

at the flashing blades of the surface,

wrapped in a world of their wishes.

Hawks soared in the light high up,

the waves broke above him,

rain on the face of a fool ––

a good place to wait,

as if he had never turned her away.