Cloud Pines

Old ghosts thought pines stood for strength
And the clouds, which moved for love,
Were born from the pines, then freed.

No, I don’t know what that means.
Clouds and pines are linked, I think.
All the old ghosts’ signs are linked,

And we were born from fine webs
Of pale signs that float from pines,
Each a child of ghosts and mists.