To draw back the blinds and look at the sky
to see the treetops relishing the play of the breeze
to think you’re a visitor here in a novel
or a melody wasted by the choir . . .

A soft bed is worth the sky
waking up free is worth a year of life

Then, from your room in a high-rise hotel
you look down upon the roofs
the satellite dishes and the treetops
and ask yourself, What’s the meaning
of trees swaying amid concrete buildings?
though the treetops are your sole consolation
and the only joy still left to you

Pass onto midday
which you call morning, you daytime sleeper:
Life awaits you