Wrestling With Weed

As the cloudy billows of smoke clear
I see tall trees above me
Towering they stand, mighty
Strong and powerful

To what ground are they rooted?
What hold do they have?
What I breathe in
Breathe out


Clouds break open the day
And scatter from my mind
a clear haven of the clear blue
No trees in sight

In their absence the focus becomes clear
As I shift my point of reference
From outside to in
Inside the forest
In the thicket
cloudy minds
foggy ideas
A consciousness of Consciousness
But focus
On what?

Climb higher.

Thick is the trunk, branches endlessly reaching
Looking up I see scraps of blue

Cloudy is the day that I see trees no more
But when the clouds clear
what distilled blue my focus gazes

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