Inadequate

Trees lean against the wind,
brunches clasping, they wait like mothers.
There is no taking in chlorophylls.They are givers.
So is the sea that goes blue till your eyes meet and then a shade of green.
Like in relentless motion, colours are traded on dawns n dusks (with sky).
Life travels through the veins of those trees at night,
through the leaves, the weak hands, feeble vocal chords of plants.
And it places itself in the loud resonance of seas -
the authority in which it is calming,
traversing a thousand sparkling salinity and reaches the shore -
quick-feet, silent as the sand crabs.
Dazzled the day is and restless the night,
it moves, prays, grows and hums.
That is, what is, we see
and there is -
as irrelevant and essential to name -

us.

We hang
.
..

[Life doesn't need a stanza, it flows. The last time I read it in a poetry, it was nude]