Palms

I understand you, you

bushy-headed palms,

stretched so tall

against the sky.

My soul's moved with you,

bit by bit,

raising the tent

of the sky;

upward, toward the

stars.

You've risen above the other trees,

tall to see

beyond their crowded heads.

You long to see a

vastness

can't be seen so

low. You

miss a place to stand and

let your unobstructed gaze

touch anything,

everything,

like a shepherd patrolling

the slumbering ranks

of his fleecy white charges,

his touch like bell tolls:

"All is well."