Tree.

The leaves fall gently 
from her hair,
cascading to the
cold ground.

In dappled sunshine
she shimmers
like a lost sea
and sighs
like gentle waves
never heard.

The wind mocks her gentility
with a cool breeze,
but she merely shrugs away,
dancing to a point on the horizon
like a hula-hula girl
on her way to the ocean.

As light
filters through her fingers,
showing her green pulse,
I sit behind glass,
separate from my reverie.

I bet her bark is coarse
but it'd be as satin to me:
every ripple something to herald.

If I could slip into her
in emerald explosion,
you know I would;
and one day yet I might.