Sensors trip the doors,
consumers are exchanged, a
Breath of the world rushes in,
sighs, and is truncated.
...
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Solitary confinement indeed, how do we expect the very same therapy indoors (in huge concrete planes) when we strangulate them in artificial air and light... I'm now feeling terrible, I am the grim reaper of plants (family joke) and I've just remembered to feed them. Their daily fight for survival down to a fool like me., , bravo to a beautiful piece which may remind me of my duty.., thank you. Karen
I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree. However, it sounds like this tree is a bit of a love-hate relationship for you. Still a good poem, though.