What if a man were a tree, men, what would that tree desire in the bird? Wings, men? Feathers?
Leaves, men, are the feathers on the wings of the tree. And a tree who was a man, men, would pull its roots from the homeground and become bird, men, bark on the wing, leaves in the sky.
Leaf wings of tree men swirl up in the whirlwind, men, and rise to those places that tree men can only dream, men. The clouds, men, the clouds that nourish them. Trees take wing in tree men dreams, men, tree branches the wings for angel feather leaves and then, men, them clouds become the dream you rise to, the tree men heaven.
Leave it men! Leave the clouds found in the words of men; leave that heaven, men.
Men should not make trees into men. Men should not make clouds into heaven, or leaves into wings, men. Let the tree be tree, men, let leaves be leaves, and let the tree find its heaven, men, when it falls to the homeground. Men, stop being angels, stop making trees live in cloud heaven. Become the tree, men, as the tree is. Fall to the earth, men, don’t rise from it.