Stark--dark branches linger in layers--like

tight fitting blocks of a pyramid.

They are joined solidly to the trunk--

moving tenaciously into the ground,

roots forcefully breaking solid Earth,

solid--not wanting to be split into an

internal chasm.

The Earth quivers at every root--

and wants to expel but waits.

"Who is this robbing me of my nutrients?"

But then gives in,

"Ah, yes I am the mother--

nurturing through the soil--yet another root,

root, many make their way into me.

Yet they do not,

do not know that they are my channel.

Plants have only a subconcious."

"I spread through winter sparce bark--

pranayama--they are taking me in,

the energy stored in my nest

holds precious organic matter--carbon."

"I am at the tip of the plants being

and peering through--bark skin--

tightly woven dark shelter,

not letting unwanted light in.

I push my sight tighter into that fit space

It is so small I am compressed like the

potential of liquid oxygen.

Looking out I see every other organism

and I peer into myself endless

variations.