caught in canopy

i have a problem with words.
us, we use them, we throw them
away, hold onto what they meant
but keep going as though they
were never said; or maybe we
hold on to the thought and watch
as it slowly falls from view, a
sort of leaf and we’re caught in canopy

tree

there is this tree,
towering, living
to be as shaded
reservoir of wind,
the subtle/nestled
shadow’s kin,
a warmth inverted,
deepened to the nerve
and thru, toward
skin’s
other layer, and
this tree,
holding,
lowering
itself
to me, holds
me up
and lets me
lie here,
a transparent,
meshed follower
of what
wind
may
grow.