I pause in woods one winter day 
 when leaves stick to the ground,
and twigs and trunks stand stiff & straight -
 a breeze the only sound.

It's a world without walls or bounds,
 but one can't see a mile.
One's sightline is obscured by trees --
 their trunks not single file.

A world, at once, open & shut
 to eyes and ears and mind.
But I've never felt so at home,
 for i'm no lonesome pine.