Who Leans on Whom

Under a tree
a man

was sitting.

His legs stretched out long,

his arms hung down at his sides.

Behind him,
a house.

While painting the bent back
I

saw the hand pressed to the ground.

While looking at the bent roof

I saw the pillar standing straight.

Strength
came into the palm.

I thought
he meant to get up.

The man

shifted his body a little.

And then

leaned his back harder against the tree.

The wind
pushed the tips of the branches.

The man too

tilted a little.

He

let the strength go
from the hand on the ground.

Below the shoulder that touched the tree

the arm hung loose again.

Who

was leaning on whom,

I could not tell.

The man,

the roof,

the tree
were all leaning

the same way.