To open like buds, to turn the leaves towards the light, open like small tight hands that have once been clasped. To lull and love the world with these leaf like hands. To change and grow bigger. With my hollows and my pulsating juices at the tips of the leaves, holding on to the insects and other leaves on the branches. Changing colors. Sinewing. Sustaining. Holding on and not letting go.
In someones hair, or on the lapel of a well pressed coat, or my own tree. To infuse ones self with the surroundings, with the scents and feelings, with the forest and the courtyard. Just so there is enough. Chest full molecules. Later I can float down in copious satisfaction and warm the new growth below, and new leaves can sprout.
