Numbers

Slender limbs fan out,

Parallel to the sky

Instead of reaching,

Wanting to be the open blue,

Accepting that

Though the tree will never

I’m sitting beneath a tree, 

Tangled 

In the roots, 

My fingers gripping those 

Of each soil-soaked tendril 

I want to breathe 

Both with looming skyscrapers, 

And mountains stretched high, 

To feel the sun 

Smiling on my skin,