past my “me” myopia
beyond the lurid light
of my own desires
when I see you in your place
in your light and in your life
as you are arcing
and branching and turning
to catch the light
that shines on you
in the places you have grown
then I can understand
whether this is for me
makes no difference
to see you as you are
and let things be as they are
not to rip your limbs from context
for any selfish purpose
for what without understanding
I may project can but
illuminate my own assumptions
perpetually obscuring
all that lies beyond
solipsistic spectroscopy
to demand I should not
harsh my throat with childish cries
for things I do not understand
assuming purpose for your leaves
to satisfy my eyes or
shade from cruelty of sun
my sheltered skin
to judge against fantasy
a tree I would build to suit just me
a life with its own agency
whether with burning anger
or glue trap approval
