THE TREE

I see the tree in front of me
most every day
as I mount my treadmill.

it’s as if I were on a hill —
on a hill and looking down.

I see it through a window –
four floors up am I
and looking through some glass
showing me a portion of the world
I’ll never travel on but dream about.
.
The tree looks like a mast –
straight and tall and limbless
with a modest show of leaves
upon its top.

I’d like to sail the boat
that holds this mast
and feel its strength against the wind.

But I will only look and wish a little.

The tree I see in front of me
plays with my meandering mind
often, as I step and step
and face familiar windows.

Some day the tree will yield to fate
but I suspect I won’t be there
upon the treadmill – watching.

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