god in these lines

the limb that is broken,
i tried to see
the space
above the treetop
where sky begins

look deeper,
you will see
the veins
on these leaves,
more calculated, more beautiful,
more easily destructible,
and yet,
less human
than the ones on my hands

where do they go,
these lines?
into a vastness obscured
by the very thing
the realest of all,
and yet the most elusive

a sunlit column of prayer
in the afternoon,
body bent forward
as if waiting
to be kissed,
or bowing the head
in grief

when i die,
and i will die someday,
let the trees mourn
for only they will know
where i am going

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About the Author

Faune Vita is a writer and artist from the Ozark Mountains who teaches writing at a small college in Western Massachusetts.