20130113-231 (tree)

There's a swimming moon caught in the net of the trees, along with shoals of thrashing stars.

20091019-103 (tree)

The tree, using the everywhere ink-wind, brushes itself onto a knobby, towel-like page of city air.

20091026-179 (tree)

I think that I shall never see--with apologies to Joyce Kilmer and his poem "Trees" from 1914--a thing as windy as a tree. Trees are rooted to the spot ("A tree whose hungry mouth is prest," Kilmer continues, rather oddly, "Against the earth's sweet flowing breast") where we are doomed to endless perambulation. And they merely bend (like airplane wings), where we break.

20090203-19 (tree)

A storm tree burns to be a bolt of lightning, its thin, gleeful sap seathing up like full syrup, oil-black, boiling. The tree breathes heavily, like a leopard, its bark grown as rough as a tablespoon of molecules.