The wind through the tallest pines
is the sound of a busy freeway
cutting across the peak in a hurry
to reach the next one. Those trees
love their fleeting dance party
right up there on that road, naked,
like no one is watching. But
just after sunset, when we turn with hope
toward the traffic much higher,
something on its way to somewhere
on a higher path dances, too, in tribute.
"I see you!" it shouts, not hearing
from way up there, from inside its small craft.