Olive Trees
The branches swim
in dense brush strokes of sky.
Waves swell them
reverse the shapes they make.
From their torn hearts
we see our own longing rise.
Trunks break toward a different shore.
They snake upward, but are pulled down
like rooted seaweed tossed
inside the green break of a wave.
Thickness that persists
becomes shape wanting takes.
Beneath the trees, blue paths
creep then drown.
