Treehouse

The sun
is bright copper wires
laced through the spaces
between the leaves
holding together
this green secret safety
with the tension
of plucked strings.
I lie face up
on this small wooden platform
high above caring
listening to the slight wind
watching the wires
dance and cross
deliberately thinking
nothing.
Somewhere below
in the harsh open light
is the shouting discord
that still shivers
ragged harmonics
through
the hollow in my chest.
But I breathe
breathe
and the unheard sounds
inside me
vibrate to silence
until only the wind
is in my mind,
and the cat's cradle
of bright copper wires.