Point of View

A wind comes

to blow the seed,

rain comes

to give it birth

sun comes

to make it grow.

Or is it that the

seed has learned

to ride the wind

so it can gestate

in damp earth,

climb sunbeams

to be tree shape.

The wind is an echo,

of past catastrophe,

reverberating in time

to one hand clapping.

It does not blow for

the tree

It does not blow for

you or me.