A Man, Not a Tree

You are a tree

not a man,

when you harm me.

Can I see the tree,

not the man?

Can I perceive,

in that moment,

your whole?

Am I God?

Can I see your seed,

where it fell,

on what soil,

How your roots spread,
 and multiplied,

and crushed,

and splintered

the soil,

How you sucked in,

what was in that soil,

How you germinated,

and sprouted,

and obliterated

the cubic millimeters

of earth above you

to breathe air,

How you reached out

towards the heavens,

bent this way and that,

under sun,

and wind,

and rain,

How you budded,

your first leaf,

stood on your own,

breathed on your own,

and smiled at the sun,

-A tree

not a man-

How you spread your arms,

in welcome,

received your first blows,

and carried,

your first bird,

your first nest,

survived your first winter,

naked in the cold?

Do I see

all the rings,

forming and growing continually,

inside your trunk?

Do I see

the bark,

growing and dying,

on your surface,

protecting you from harm?

Your first fruit,

your second.

What fruit is it?

What color?

What life in you,

has made this new life,

that now hangs,

for all to see?

A man,

not a tree,

you are,

when you harm me.

But do I see,

the tree?