Ghost Trees

Interspersed within the living
Are the ones that are dying,
Then they become ghosts,
Wrapped in ghost cocoons,
Unable to wave in the wind,
Dropping dead branches instead of fruit,
Like Sandzen’s Haunted Trees
They reach out but do not grasp,
You cannot touch them,
They cannot be reached
Except in the realm of dead things,
Do not go there, dear friend,
For if you take the boat across the river
To the other side,
Be sure to tip the oarsman,
He is a fickle soul
That might leave you there forever
In the Woods of Suicide.