It is not the tree you want to see.
It is the edges of its leaves you desire;
the clean, clear sharpness of life,
the unbroken final line that surrounds us,
the perfect, outer edges of truth.
Our eyes are lies.
We cannot see what is in front of us.
It is only the outlines of our lives that are true.
It is there we find meaning,
that which defines what we hold inside.
There is no room for error on the edges.