OAK TREES These oak trees stare right back at me, out of severed limbs that look like eyes. Despite the wounds, they never cry. It happened very long ago, long enough for them to know scar tissues over lacerations grow. But still it comes as some surprise that amputations give us eyes to see a thing we couldn’t see, whether we’re human or a tree.
Beautiful poem! I'm a big fan of oak trees.