Standing outside the law of iron:
scots pines. Still,
one-pointed among all that's become,
they stream a shared Earth upwards.
Rooted beyond themselves,
they breathe the refugee wind.
Where the sky rises
from whatever's got owned,
it opens the lattice of branches;
tips shiver with outreach.
Wings for the journey.
They enact the ritual
of light's life-struggle home –
to release the ostracised stars.