I do not return to perfect trees.
I return to the gnarled oak, rising alone amongst the stones,
To the burned ash, fresh leaves greeting the rising sun,
To the bound bonsai, constrained by ego yet still a tree.

I do not return to perfect trees
Except to note in verdant forests
All look alike
Yet no two rise the same.

I do not return to perfect trees
Nor clear glass windows
Nor professed saints
Yet find God upon each return.