They will come...

I like to stand alone
sometimes -
the lone tree
in a field of dreams;
roots gnaw steadily, into
stuck-in-the-mud beliefs;
spreading slowly,
grounded in the now;
there's nothing to seek,
nothing to wonder,
and so I just be;
flowers and leaves
grow, and they fall
to kiss my roots -
an offering to myself;
if I build myself,
they will come...
the birds, the bees,
the humans, the breeze;
I'll come alive
in a new way then -
the lone tree
in a field of dreams.