I was reading your poem and thinking about how we have been domesticated, how we go through the world with our faces down because of our cell phones, for example. With our hands constantly occupied, we miss the horizon, life itself. Our bodies are shaped by our habits; they are a fingerprint for others. But just because I've been broken doesn't mean I'm dead: I live fractured, bent, but always upright. The tree is not good because it is hard and unbreakable; it is good because despite the storms, it remains standing. Hugs, my friend.