Deer Rump Pine

Days I’m proud to have scraped by,
Nights life’s a joy I’ve eked out,
I think of the deer-rumped pine
And ask, What’s the point of doubts?

Hours I’m pleased to sit at home,
Watch shades slide and wet grass dry,
I ask what it was I thought
Hid in the woods at that spot?

I know I’m wired to see beasts
In the leaves, ghosts in the pines,
But why would I think a tree
Hid trip-wired thoughts mined for mind?