Trees

I like your trees,
I like the roots I don’t
always see there
below you and me,
and I like the rusty bark
you might wish was smooth.
I like hanging in your
canopy
way up in your leaf-like roof.
I like the little breeze,
the way it blows your hair
to here or there.
I like the birds that love you
and chirp a song,
a prayer.
I like your colors
and all they are,
I like the things that make you
you, I even like your scars.
I like the fact that I like you,
it makes me understand
that trees and men like me
are sown into this land.